What Doesn't Kill You
by LadyWallace
Summary: When a hunt goes wrong and the boys are captured it all falls apart when Dean is forced to hurt Sam. How does one come back from that when forgive and forget really doesn't cut it? Set Season 1 hurt/angsty!Sam/Dean (No Slash)
1. Chapter 1

**Well, I finally got around to doing another multi-chapter fanfic for the Supernatural fandom. I decided I needed something set in Season 1 though this turned out to be an angst fest, but oh well, I hope you all enjoy it anyway. I've been mulling this one around in my mind for a while and finally got to writing it. I hope my baddie is okay and isn't too cliché, but let's be honest the SPN baddies kind of are :P **

**Disclaimer: Not mine, apart from some OCs but I think you can tell :P**

**Warnings: Rated for heavy angst, torture, and some language. Nothing you wouldn't likely see in an actual episode.**

What Doesn't Kill You

A Supernatural Fanfic

Chapter One

Dean opened his eyes blearily to unfamiliar surroundings, groaning. He tried to focus, take stock of where he was, what was around him. He was lying on his back, and he was inside, that was about all he could tell for the moment. His head ached and he tried to raise a hand to feel for injury, but found himself unable to move. His hands were resting up by his head and he panicked for a moment, thinking he might be paralyzed, then realized he was, instead, bound flat to a table or something. Not much of an improvement, but at least he knew he had the option of escape, of running. That always made him feel better.

Now the important part: where was Sam? And how had they managed to get into this situation?

He turned his head to one side, his sight finally clearing a bit. He realized the reason he couldn't see was that he had dried blood covering his eyes, likely from his head wound. He could feel it flaking off as he blinked several times and strained against the ropes to rub his eyes against his shoulder to get the rest of it off. He was finally able to see the room he was being kept in. It looked like it had once been a dining room due to the table, but there appeared to be no current occupants in the house as it was definitely lacking that lived-in touch. He was lying out on the table and tied all too tightly for his liking. Someone had also decided to remove his jacket and over shirt, and there was still the fact that Sam was nowhere to be found.

He opened his mouth to speak but only a croak came out. He tried to make his tongue work and finally groaned, "S-Sam?"

No reply. Dean jerked at the ropes but made little progress, still in a slightly delirious state. He growled out several choice phrases, and finally gave up, slumping back on the table and resigned himself to waiting for whoever had tied him up. Now all he needed was to be able to remember what had led him here. His mind was a bit on the fuzzy side…

A door was heard closing somewhere in the house and then steady footsteps, coming closer to where he was. He knew by the gait it wasn't Sam, and he tensed, ready for whoever came through the door, even if he wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

And then a blond woman appeared in the doorway, smiling as she saw him awake, and leaned against the doorjamb, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Hello, Dean, glad to see you're awake."

And Dean remembered everything that had happened in the last couple days.

* * *

><p>"<em>Dude, why witches?<em> I hate witches!" Dean groaned over the music blaring in the Impala as he gripped the wheel tight and continued on to their destination of a small town in Iowa.

"Well, I don't know what else it could be," Sam replied, rubbing his hands over his face. Dean glanced sideways at him. He knew Sam wasn't sleeping; it had been nearly a month since Jess had died, but Dean knew well enough that it hadn't been nearly long enough for the nightmares to stop. He slapped Sam's knee to get him to come back to the conversation.

"Well, I guess we should look on the bright side. We do get to gank some witches!" Dean told him with a grin, and took the proper exit. "Let's find a motel and grab a bite to eat. We'll get to business first thing tomorrow."

And they had, just as planned. They got a good night's sleep, or at least as good as they got anymore. Dean was woken several times by Sam's restlessness and had to get up and nudge him. Just a simple hand on his shoulder or the back of his neck to let him know he was there. It was strange, Dean thought, after doing it for the third time, yawning as he slid back into his own bed. He had only been back with Sam for a month or so after those two years he hadn't seen him, but everything had come back to him as instinct. The protectiveness—the role of being the older brother. He had always known what to do for Sammy, had always been there to protect him, and nothing had changed despite their separation. It was good to think they could go back to what they were. True, they were still working a few things out, getting back into the swing of working together, but it didn't take nearly as much effort as he had anticipated.

The next day they had gone out into the town and asked around to see if they could find the source of the witch activity. During the course of their investigation, they had come across Cassandra, a super hot blond who Dean was more than happy to try and charm while Sam asked the most important questions.

Cassandra's friend had been a victim of the witch's antics: dying a nasty death of choking on razor blades. Dean offered his sympathy and handed Cassandra a tissue when she broke down during the story. She wasn't able to tell them much, only saying what most people said: there wasn't anyone who would want to hurt her friend.

"Do you think anyone really takes the time to know their friends anymore?" Dean asked his brother as they drove to get something to eat after interviewing Cassandra. "I mean, how many times are people actually not hiding something?"

"I don't know, Dean, but do you think there's something not quite right about Cassandra?" Sam asked, a thoughtful look on his face.

"Do you have eyes, dude?" Dean asked him with a wink. "I didn't see _anything_ wrong with her."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, maybe if you would have kept your eyes where they should be, you would have noticed something was wrong when she was telling the story."

"Like what?" Dean asked, getting impatient.

"I don't know," Sam sighed. "I just have a feeling is all. That there's something she's not telling us."

"Well, we have a couple more people to talk to and if we can't come up with anything, we'll go back and see if she is hiding something." He grinned. "If she is, I might be able to persuade her to talk."

"Dude, seriously, would you just for once think with your upstairs brain?" Sam groaned as Dean pulled into a diner and he got out of the car. Dean made a face at his back and followed him inside.

They did find something interesting in their further investigations, however, and that came in the form of something Cassandra had failed to mention. That there was a man involved.

"So this guy has been seen around town a lot lately, and not only that, but with all the victims not long before they died," Sam said, looking over notes in their hotel room that night while Dean checked the mystery man's information on the computer.

"Do you think this is what Cassandra was hiding?" Sam asked.

"If she was actually hiding anything," Dean replied. "But I agree that we should take this picture to her tomorrow and see if she has seen him."

They never got that far though, because the instant they were walking up the path to Cassandra's door, they saw the very object of their interest burst from some bushes and run off down the street. Sam and Dean raced after him, following him to a foreclosed house on the street and took part in a resulting tussle, which ended in a few bruises given to the Winchesters and one dead witch.

"Dude, man-witches are so wrong," Dean said as they destroyed his grimoire.

"Dean, they're called warlocks," Sam couldn't help but say.

"Well excuse me Mr. Politically Correct," Dean snorted. "I got this done. We'll come back tonight for the body. Can't really haul it out of here right now."

They went back to their motel, and came back to the abandoned house after dark only to find that the body was no longer there.

"Oh crap," Dean muttered. "That's not good."

"Where could it have gone?" Sam asked as if the dead man-witch could have just walked away. "Who could have…?"

And up to that point was about all Dean could remember. Everything else was just a flash of bright light and sudden blackness.

* * *

><p>"<em>You were working <em>with the man-witch the whole time," Dean said, grunting as he strained against the bindings again, still to no effect. "I guess you're one too then. Part of the same coven? And where the hell is my brother?"

She smiled coldly at him, coming into the room and leaning over the table. "Sammy's fine for now. I didn't want to get started without you. And yes I did know Caleb. He was _my_ brother."

_Oh crap,_ Dean groaned silently. This wasn't going to end well, he could tell. A vengeful witch is the most dangerous kind. Not that they needed even that much incentive to be vengeful.

"Look, I'm sorry about your brother," Dean said, trying to keep his voice conversational. Try to appeal to your captors, right? "But he was offing people, and you can't do that. That's how all of you people always get caught. You think you just want to learn a few spells, make someone fall in love with you or something, but magic never ends well, and usually results in death; mostly other people's but sometimes yours as well."

"Those people deserved to die," Cassandra said, leaning over him with a growl.

"Do me a favor and define 'deserved' for me in your dictionary," Dean replied sarcastically.

"Maggie stole my boyfriend from me and didn't even try to hide it either. And Ray wouldn't stop mouthing off at Caleb. He's been torturing him since high school. He never got over it."

"Yeah, so they weren't the best people in the world," Dean said. "But in my experience people talk to each other, Cassandra. They don't make them choke on razors or boil them in the shower!"

She smiled cruelly. "You killed my brother Dean. You killed _him_ without any talking. You never asked what he was doing, you never even made sure he was the right person." She took a knife from the back of her belt and pressed it to Dean's throat, pushing his head up with it. "How can you blame me for these things when you know you do the same?"

"It's my job to kill things that threaten the general populace," Dean told her with as charming a grin as he could manage in his position. "Family business."

"Well witchcraft is _my_ family business," Cassandra said. "My mother and father were too, but they met with strange accidents. Likely one of your kind." He flinched as the blade slit his neck warningly. He felt the warm trickle of blood slide down his skin. She traced the knife down his throat to his chest and carved a line over his collarbone, making him shift uncomfortably, gritting his teeth.

"So what are you doing?" he asked her. "I get that you want revenge. Why not just kill me? What's with all the dramatics?"

"Oh, I want to kill you all right," she said and dug the blade in deeper, carving down the middle of his chest. Dean cried out as he felt blood well from the wound and seep into his t-shirt. "But I'm going to take my slow time of it. In revenge for my brother, and for all the other countless innocent creatures you and your family have killed."

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, that's rich coming from you. How many more people did you and your parents off in their day? Anyone unlucky enough to piss you off? Cut you off on the road maybe? Put mayo on your sandwich? That could be hundreds!"

"We're not so petty," Cassandra snarled.

"You could fool me," Dean retorted before crying out in pain as she sliced the knife viciously down his right ribcage, to the bone. She leaned over him, grabbing his chin roughly in one hand, her face inches from him.

"I don't think you fully appreciate exactly what I am capable of, Dean Winchester," she said in a low voice. Her other hand found the fresh wound on his ribs and she dug her fingers in. He tensed and fought back a scream. "When I'm done with you and your brother, you will be sorry. I promise you that. And on top of that, you are going to confess to me everything and everyone you have ever killed and I'm going to carve a reminder of it into your flesh."

"Yeah, like I'm going to do it with those results," Dean snarked then gasped as he felt the blade burn across his stomach.

"I have ways of getting what I want," she told him with a coy smile, bringing the knife up and tapping it against Dean's lips, painting them with his own blood.

"Yeah, I'm sure you do," he said, trying to keep up his bravado, but it was fast failing. Damn he hated witches! "Look, do what you want with me, I was the one who shot your brother, but let Sam go."

She laughed, her eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "You're seriously trying to bargain with me, Dean? No, you see, I'm not about to let your precious baby brother go. He's part of my plan for revenge."

"No, come on, please," Dean tried but she stopped him with the tip of the blade pressing into the soft part of his throat again. He gulped against the blade.

"No amount of begging with do anything," she said. "Now, I think it's time we go visit poor Sammy, don't you? He was very anxious when he woke up just a few minutes before you did and didn't find you there. Now," she leaned in close to him again, keeping the knife point where it was. "You're not going to try anything are you? Because you don't know where Sam is, and if you even think of running, I will kill him. And you won't get out of the house anyway. I've set wards, and you can't cross them. She tapped his wrist and he winced, realizing for the first time that something had been carved there, probably a sigil of some sort. "But if you cooperate, I'll let you go see your brother."

Everything in Dean told him to fight, all his instincts that his dad had trained into him for years. But he knew he couldn't now. He saw that Cassandra was not bluffing, and he knew better than to trust a witch. He knew well enough that she could kill Sam from where she was standing now, and he couldn't risk that. Not his little brother.

"Fine," he said finally.

"I'm glad you decided to cooperate," Cassandra told him with a smile. "I would have hated to have to finish this before the fun had even gotten started."

She unbound Dean from the table, but kept his hands tied in front of him. He sat up with a wince, and felt slightly dizzy from the wound to his head. He was probably concussed. He looked down at his left wrist and saw that there was a mark carved into it and he wondered if he might be able to elude its power by making another cut through it. That is if he got a chance to get hold of a knife.

Cassandra grabbed him by the arm and hauled him off the table and farther into the house down into the basement where he and Sam had only a few hours before killed the man-witch/warlock, now known to be Cassandra's brother.

The place was lit with only a couple bare bulbs and it was dirty but there were signs of use and Dean could see there were still several shelves of bottles that likely held ingredients for spells. He wished they had taken those out too, but right now he had other concerns.

On the other side of the room, a figure was suspended from the beams of the ceiling, toes barely touching the floor. His head was slumped forward at first, but he slowly raised it as Dean and Cassandra came in.

"Dean?" Sam's hoarse voice whispered.

"Sammy," Dean replied and felt his gut twist at the hopeless look in his little brother's eyes. Right now it looked like they were well and totally screwed.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, let me know what you thought of the beginning, good, bad, or whatever. I'm still editing, so it will be next weekend before I get chapter 2 up, but I'll try to get two chapters up next saturday to make up for it :) I hope you all liked this, and feel free to check out all my other SPN stories (and Hobbit ones too, if you like that) :)<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**We're back! Sorry I didn't get this up last weekend, but I didn't get a lot of time to edit and I wasn't sure I liked this chapter. But I will have another one up Sat or Sunday. Thank you to everyone who has commented, followed and faved so far, I'm glad you're enjoying it! I hope you continue to do so. Same warnings apply to this as the last chapter. This one is a little short, but the next one will be longer, promise :)**

Chapter Two

"See Sammy, I told you your big brother was all right. More or less," Cassandra said as she shoved Dean into a chair and tied him up. She went over to the younger Winchester and stroked his face in mock gentleness. Sam flinched away and glared at the witch.

"Oh, come now, Sammy, we're going to be spending some quality time together soon, so you may as well warm up to me."

"It's Sam," Sam growled. "Only Dean gets to call me that."

Cassandra laughed in amusement at that indignant revelation, turning and quirking her eyebrows at Dean. "Oh, you two are going to be a lot of fun, I can tell."

The elder Winchester gave her a mocking smile. "What can I say, sister? I like to give a lady a good time."

"That overbearing sass of yours might get on my nerves before too long, however," Cassandra replied, her face darkening again. She turned back to Sam and caressed his cheek, keeping him in place with the dagger under his chin so he couldn't jerk away this time. "I like this one better, he's quieter. No offense of course, Dean."

"Not my fault you don't have good taste," Dean tried half-heartedly even though he just wished she would leave Sam alone.

Cassandra smiled before she flicked the knife, cutting Sam up the jawline. He hissed in surprise and flinched away.

"If you touch my brother again, I'll kill you!" Dean snarled, struggling in his ropes, but only finding them getting tighter. He tried to struggle more but couldn't breathe. He looked up to see Cassandra smiling at him smugly.

"I put a spell on them. The more you struggle, the tighter they get. I wasn't taking any chances."

Dean instantly stopped struggling and the ropes slackened enough for him to breathe, but he was trembling in anger, his green eyes flashing. Sam was staring right at him with an expression Dean couldn't quite read, though he knew there was fear in there somewhere, and he wasn't doing great on that front himself. He wished the witch would just get on with her revenge and not talk them to death first.

"Hey Cassie, I think we've determined why we're here; we killed your brother. I said sorry. Now if you're still determined to torture us, could you get on with it and stop the monologueing?"

Cassandra strode back over to him and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him forward, the knife right in front of his nose. He went cross-eyed looking down it.

"You want me to get started?" she asked dangerously, cocking her head to one side. "Fine." She pulled the knife back and Dean squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain. He heard Sam's inhalation of breath to scream for him—whatever good that would do—but neither came. When Dean opened his eyes Cassandra was walking around behind his chair and he could hear her messing with bottles from the shelves. He craned his head and was barely able to see her mixing several things into a bowl.

"Whatcha doin' back there?" he called, his heart beating faster.

"Cassandra," Sam said, trying to keep his voice as soft and reasonable as possible. "Look, we're really sorry about your brother. Believe me, if he hadn't forced our hand by killing people we wouldn't have had to do the same to him. Even then, I realize it was a bit, well, hasty. But can we talk?"

"Come on, Sam," Dean said with a longsuffering sigh but his brother shot him a look.

"We'll let you go, if you do the same for us," Sam continued. "For compensation, if you will. You don't have to do this."

"Sam!" Dean cried.

"Dean…" Sam began but Cassandra suddenly threw a bottle onto the floor with a crash.

"Shut the hell up!" she screamed. She walked over and wrenched Dean's head back by his hair, making his sore head ache and spin. She pointed the knife toward Sam. "I don't care what happens to me, all I know is that you two are going to pay for my brother's murder. And while I'm at it, I'm going to make you pay for my parents' murder too, just because I feel like it, and I don't have the person responsible for it."

"Cassandra, please can we just talk?" Sam pleaded, using his kindly 'boy-next-door' look that usually had women eating out of his hand. "Because I know my brother and I promise you he will kill you if you continue here."

"Oh, you know that's right," Dean said with a humorless chuckle. "Stop trying to talk to her Sammy, witches don't see reason like normal people."

"You wanna talk?" Cassandra asked dangerously. She slashed the knife down across Dean's chest. He gasped and gritted his teeth. "I don't want to hear what you have to say. I don't _care!_" she shouted. "I just want to hear you scream." She then drove the knife into Dean's shoulder and he cried out before he could stop himself. Sam shouted for him too and Cassandra pulled the knife out of Dean's shoulder slowly with a twist. He gasped and crumpled forward as much as possible in the ropes once she let him go. He took deep breaths to steady himself, hoping he wouldn't pass out. Cassandra went back to what she had been doing and came back around with a bowl of something. Dean did not like the looks of that.

"Do you want to know what this is?" she asked, sounding like she was teaching a class.

"Not really," Dean grunted.

She ignored him. "This is a spell that induces the victim to relive their worst nightmare over and over again until they go mad."

Dean swallowed hard. As un-fun as that sounded, the only thing in his head was that it not be Sam. He knew what his little brother would dream, and he had been doing too much of that normally of late as it was, no hexes needed. How much worse would his nightmares be heightened by the spell?

He nearly breathed a sigh of relief as Cassandra came over to him. She set the bowl down and pulled a cloth out of her coat. She smiled as she shoved it between his teeth and tied it tightly behind his head. Dean tensed, watching her carefully as she bent to pick the bowl up again and waited for her to hex him. But to his horror, she just smirked viciously and turned back to Sam.

"No!" Dean tried to yell past his gag. The ropes tightened with his renewed struggles, but he hardly noticed as he watched Sam try to pull away from the witch as she took up the knife and stirred the bowl with it while chanting a spell. Then she raised the blade, dripping with the mixture and cut it across Sam's forearm.

"What…?" He flinched, and then in another instant his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped in his bindings.

Cassandra reached up to unlock him and Sam's large figure crumpled to the floor. She tied his hands behind his back and then his ankles and all the time Sam didn't stir. Dean watched with bated breath, wondering if the spell was working already or not.

"It should only be another minute," Cassandra told him.

Dean muttered something past his gag, but was startled when Sam's figure suddenly gave a huge twitch. The younger Winchester cried out as though in pain and began to wreathe on the floor.

"No," he muttered over and over. "No, please. Jess!"

Cassandra smiled as she stood over Sam's jerking figure. "Sweet dreams, Sammy."

Dean screamed past his gag and yanked at the ropes that bound him, needing to get to his little brother. But the ropes only tightened so hard he couldn't breathe and they were crushing his ribs near breaking. His shoulder ached and bled afresh with the struggling but he didn't care about the pain at the moment. It was nothing compared to Sam's agonized screams. Cassandra walked over to Dean with a satisfied smile on her lips. Dean glared daggers at her, hoping to get his point across.

"That's right, Dean, you can't do anything for him. Poor little Sammy is left to suffer all alone, and you have to watch every minute of it, knowing you can't do anything."

Dean growled and struggled again. Cassandra bent over him and stroked his cheek before he jerked away from her.

"I'll be back in the morning to see how you two fair," she said. "Word of advice though, Dean. The only thing you'll accomplish by trying to get out of those ropes is every bone in your body broken. They'll crush you to pulp if you don't stop struggling. There's no way out until I let it happen, so don't get any ideas. You're well and truly stuck. Same with Sam. The spell can only be broken by another. It doesn't just wear off. That is if he doesn't bash his own head in during the night."

Dean moaned past the gag but she just blew him a kiss and left the room.

Dean tried a token struggle but the ropes only tightened until he was sobbing for breath and he finally had to admit defeat. There was no point in it. He couldn't take his eyes off Sam's thrashing figure, twenty times worse than it had been during his normal nightmares. He could only sit there helpless as his little brother screamed and plead and sobbed in the throes of a nightmare he couldn't escape, having to relive Jessica's death over and over and over again. And then it seemed to shift after several hours and Sam was screaming for Dean instead. Every time Sam said his name it sent a dagger into his heart and twisted it. It hurt so much more than Cassandra's dagger earlier. There was nothing worse than his little brother calling for him, needing him, and being unable to go to him, to even talk to him, and let him know that it was all right, and he was there. He was watching out for him.

But he wasn't. He couldn't. And Sam thrashed himself black and blue against the floor, his wrists bleeding from where the ropes dug into him, and his voice hoarse from all the screaming. Dean finally felt tears leak down his own cheeks before he knew they were there. He began to wonder who's torture really was worse, his or Sam's.


	3. Chapter 3

**Here we go, onto chapter three! Really starting to get into the majorly angsty stuff with this one, so be warned. Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read this so far, and I really hope you continue to enjoy :)**

Chapter Three

Eventually, Sam's thrashing and screaming turned to exhausted twitching and whimpers, silent tears streaming down his cheeks out of his swollen eyes. Dean just slumped in the chair, tired both mentally and physically, his body aching from being tied up all night. The wound in his shoulder had scabbed over and stopped bleeding, but his chest and arm were covered in dried blood, joining that from his other wounds.

"Dean, oh God, please no," Sam whimpered and sent just another ache through Dean's chest. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, just trying to block it out for a while. Sam had screamed most of the night and its sound had grated on his nerves until he had found himself screaming with him. He couldn't remember a night worse than this since he was four and his mother had died in the fire. If Cassandra wanted them to suffer, then she was doing a damn good job of it, he had to give her that.

He had no way to tell whether it was morning or not, nor what time it was at all, but past Sam's sobbing, he finally heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs to the basement. He was almost strangely glad. Anything to break the monotony, the horror that he had gone through that night, and anything to ease Sam's suffering. Maybe Cassandra would break the spell now.

The door opened with a creak of old hinges and Cassandra stepped in, glancing between the brothers with cruel satisfaction. She offered Dean a smile.

"How did you sleep?" she asked mockingly.

Dean gave her a look that said _go screw yourself_ but she just continued to smile at him. She turned after a while and walked over to Sam's twitching figure and knelt down, stroking his hair. He shuddered and curled up to get away from her. Dean watched in silent fury as she rubbed some of the tears off of his cheeks with her thumb.

"Poor Sammy, that spell really took a toll on you didn't it?" she crooned before standing up and going back over to Dean. She bent over to look him in the eye, her hands resting on his knees.

"How was it listening to his screams all night?" she asked with relish. "Poor baby brother, all helpless, and you could do nothing for him. Do you know that I felt it when Caleb died? You see, he wasn't just my brother, he was my twin. Not identical, so you probably didn't guess that, but he was, and we have always shared a connection. That's why when one of us was threatened, hurt by someone, we got rid of them for the other. Wouldn't you do the same for your brother?"

Dean glared at her. She reached out and took his gag off. He spent a few moments getting his mouth wet enough to speak then said, "I would kill _you_ in an instant if I wasn't tied with magic rope."

She sighed. "Still talking big. Maybe just watching your brother suffer wasn't enough."

"Oh, it was plenty," Dean said tiredly. "Come on, you've had your fun with him, let him go."

"Hmm, I'll think about it," Cassandra said.

"You do it now, or…"

She was back in his face in an instant, her hand on his shoulder, thumb pressing into the wound. He winced and flinched as her breath washed over his face. "You'll what? Not really in a position to do me any harm now, are you?" He glared at her, but she leaned back slightly. "But, I will consider it. I'm going to want something in return, however."

"What is that?" Dean asked and tried to force a cocky smile onto his face. "Oh, I bet I can guess, you want some of _this_ don't you?" He nodded to himself with a wink. "So do all the ladies."

"You won't be worth looking at when I'm done with you, honey," she told him sweetly before slamming him back against the chair. "What I want is names so I can write them on your grave. Who was your first kill?"

"Why do you want to know?" Dean asked. "You don't want to hear my hunting stories."

"Oh, but I do," she replied. "It will only give me more reason to hurt you and make you suffer as they did."

"Oh, well in that case…" Dean said but she slammed him back again.

"If you want me to let your brother out of that spell you will tell me."

Dean took a deep sigh, glanced at Sam and then back at Cassandra. "Werewolf. I was fourteen."

"Good," she said. "And after that?"

"Ghost, someone's murdered wife. But I put her to rest, I didn't just gank her like a monster."

"I don't really care," Cassandra made plain.

After a few more names Dean stopped, feeling even more tired and defeated, all his bravado gone.

"How's that?"

"Good enough start. We'll continue this chat later." She walked over to Sam and said a few words, putting her hand over his forehead. Sam shuddered under her touch and went still finally. Dean watched worriedly as he lay there, then stirred with a hoarse groan and opened his eyes.

"Sammy?" Dean called, putting a smile on his face that he hardly had the heart for.

Sam's eyes snapped to his with a jolt, and he tried to sit up, relief clearly on his face. "Dean!" he called.

"Yes, your brother is here, no time to play happy family," Cassandra told him, grabbing him by the front of the shirt and hauling him up after cutting his ropes. Sam stumbled, seeming disoriented and not really aware of what was going on. He winced as Cassandra reattached him to his original position, suspended from the beam. Sam didn't take his eyes off Dean once, and Dean could read how relieved his brother was to see him alive in the way his jaw trembled, trying to keep his emotions at bay. He had no idea what Sam could have dreamed last night, but he knew it must have taken a toll on the poor kid.

"Now," Cassandra said, as if she were contemplating something very important. "There are many decisions to make. So many choices. What should we do next? Sammy's looking a little healthy in my opinion, even after his hard night."

"You leave him alone, bitch," Dean growled at her. "I told you I was the one to kill your brother, take it out on me. There's no reason Sam has to suffer for it."

"Oh but Dean, you don't seem to understand," Cassandra laughed. "Torturing you might be fun and, believe me, you'll get your turn, but there are so many other ways to make you suffer." He tensed as she walked back to Sam, pulling her knife out and settling it in the hollow of his throat. "Like watching your brother being tortured instead. You see, Dean, I know. I know that to really hurt you, I have to hurt Sam. An eye for an eye, Dean—your brother for mine. And once I have torn Sam apart as slowly and painfully as possible, I'll take my own sweet time on you."

"Come on, don't do this. I swear I will kill you if you touch him, and you know I will. It was you who said monster, not me," Dean growled, jerking in the ropes again and wincing as they cut into his partially healing wounds.

Cassandra smiled and said some sort of spell. The blade she held started to glow and Sam flinched away from it. There was a red spot where it had rested against his skin. Cassandra brought it up to the side of his neck and when Sam moved as much as he could to get away she grabbed his chin to hold him still and pressed the glowing blade to his skin. Sam cried out hoarsely and Dean's nose was assailed with the smell of burning flesh. He gagged and wanted to throw up. Sam gasped in a breath as Cassandra took the burning blade away with a smile and then grabbed Sam's t-shirt, pulling it up to expose his torso. She pressed the blade to the soft flesh under his ribs. He cried out again and tried to move away but his manacles wouldn't allow it. She burned him once more on his lower belly before Dean couldn't take it anymore.

"Stop, alight? Just stop!" he shouted. Both Cassandra and Sam looked over at him.

"What do you want?" Dean asked sharply. "I'll give you anything you want, I'll do whatever if you just stop hurting him."

"Dean, no," Sam said quietly and cried out as Cassandra pressed her knife to the underside of his arm.

"Stop it!" Dean screamed, jerking in his chair and feeling the ropes tighten threateningly again.

Cassandra pulled her dagger away from Sam and it stopped glowing. She turned and walked over to Dean, bending over to look him in the eye.

"You say you'll do whatever I want?" she asked.

"Yes, I'll tell you everything I ever ganked; hell, I'll even dance the Macarena for you if you ask. Just stop hurting Sam."

"Dean," Sam protested but Dean shot him a look.

"Okay then," Cassandra said with a shrug. "I'll stop hurting him."

She straightened up and put her hands in the air non-threateningly. Dean felt unease wash over him, just sitting there watching her.

"What's the catch?" he asked. "You don't think I believe you, do you?"

A cruel smile flitted over her mouth. "I promise I won't touch Sam again, and I would like you to know I do keep my promises, Dean."

"Then what?" he asked her, a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach. Afraid to even ask.

She crouched down and took his face between her hands. "_I _won't hurt him, Dean," she said sweetly, caressing his cheeks as she leaned in and whispered in his ear, "But you will."

Dean jerked back in horror. "No. I won't."

Cassandra stood up and shrugged indifferently. "Very well then. I'll just whip up another batch of the dream spell."

"No, please," Sam pleaded and the sound nearly broke Dean's heart. But it wouldn't be that bad. Not nearly as bad as if he took a knife to Sam willingly. He couldn't do that. Not his baby brother. He took a shuddering breath.

"Sam," he whispered as his brother met his eyes pleadingly. "You know I can't."

Cassandra mixed her spell again and brought the bowl over, speaking the incantation. Sam struggled in his bonds, his wrists bleeding afresh as he tried to get away.

"No, no please, I can't do that again!" he cried out and Dean closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. There was no good outcome to this scenario and that's obviously what Cassandra had wanted. But he had to weigh his options. What was more painful for him and what was less painful to Sam? Maybe a few bruises and cuts would be a mercy compared to Sam suffering from the spell again. Besides, Dean reasoned in his head, if he was in charge he could pull the punches, make sure Sam wasn't hurt badly. Hurting his little brother intentionally would kill him, he knew that with a certainty, but in the long run it would be better, he knew that too. And he would be untied and handed a weapon; maybe it would provide an opportunity for escape.

Cassandra had finished the spell and raised the knife towards Sam again.

"No, please. Dean!" Sam cried and the look in his eyes, frantic and pleading, decided everything for Dean.

"Cassandra, stop," he called. "I…I'll do it, just…just don't make him go through that again."

She turned around, a satisfied smirk on her face. She put the bowl down and wiped the knife on a rag. She came over to Dean and with another short spell, he felt the ropes slacken and breathed a small sigh of relief. She untied him the rest of the way and grabbed the front of his shirt to pull him up. He suppressed a groan as his stiff and sore muscles protested and she pulled him over to his brother. Dean swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet Sam's eyes. He couldn't read the expression his brother was giving him. It was something cross between relief, and fear and maybe a bit of betrayal, but Dean didn't want to think about that part. He looked back at Cassandra instead. She was smiling and he clenched his fists tightly at his sides, having to force all his strength into not hitting her.

She took one of his hands and pried his fingers apart, pressing the dagger into his palm. His hand closed around it with a white-knuckled grip.

"You can start any time," she told him, stepping back a pace and crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm going to enjoy this."

Dean turned back to Sam, listening to his brother's uneven breathing and watching him tremble. He wanted nothing more than to just hold him tightly and tell him everything was all right. As girly as that sounded. It was just that when Sammy was hurt and suffering, all he could see was a skinny, snot-nosed five-year-old who would crawl into his bed and beg his big brother to keep him safe from what was upsetting him. Dean's hand trembled as he brought the knife up and he heard Sam's intake of breath. Maybe if he just closed his eyes…

"Come on, Dean, you keep your word, I'll keep mine," Cassandra said, obviously relishing his inner struggle.

"It's…it's all right, Dean," Sam whispered, his voice trembling and that nearly broke Dean right then. No, it wasn't all right. _Nothing_ about this was all right.

As he hesitated again, he felt a hand on his, over the knife. Cassandra pulled his hand up so that the knife was resting right under Sam's collarbone, pressing it in. Sam choked on a breath that sounded more like a sob and Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a second before trying to find an inner reserve of strength.

"It's easy, Dean," Cassandra whispered in his ear. "Just like killing one of your monsters," she pressed his hand harder and blood appeared under the knife. Sam whimpered before he could stop himself and Dean thought he would throw up. Cassandra slowly let his hand go and waited to see what the older Winchester would do. Dean just stood there, seeming unable to move, the knife still pressed against Sam's trembling skin. Dean knew he had to do this, but all he could see was his dad shoving his baby brother into his arms and telling him to run. No. There was no way he could do this. No matter what the consequences. _Sorry Sammy._

He pulled the knife away and instantly saw Sam's body relax in relief. "I can't," he whispered in a trembling voice, his throat aching with emotion, feeling sick at what he had been about to do. He decided there was nothing that could be worse than that.

"Are you sure?" Cassandra asked.

"Yes," Dean growled, meeting her eyes with a cold stare.

"This is the final offer," she informed him.

"I won't hurt my brother."

She nodded and grabbed Dean, pulling him to the far side of the room behind Sam where his brother couldn't see them. Cassandra shoved Dean against the wall and held the knife to his throat.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Dean?" Sam called, straining to see them but his bonds prevented that.

Cassandra put a finger to her lips and then put her hand to her mouth before leaning in and pressing her lips to Dean's before he could protest. He could taste something salty and metallic on her mouth and suddenly realized it was blood, but by then it was too late. His eyes widened as she pulled away and she smiled, pressing the knife to his throat and leaning in to whisper to him as she wiped a drop of blood off his lip with her thumb, covering his mouth with her hand so he couldn't spit.

"Don't fight it," she said, her breath hissing hotly in his ear as he tried to get her hand away from his mouth. "If you thought last night was bad, Dean, you have no idea what I'm capable of doing to you and your brother." She then whispered an incantation and he felt his body acting against his will. What was she doing to him? He couldn't move, he couldn't speak or cry out, he just stared at her, watching her satisfied smile as she finished the spell and took her hand away from his mouth. She wiped some blood off his lips and took the knife away from his throat. He found himself reaching up involuntarily and taking the knife from her. He tried to open his mouth to speak but he couldn't. His vocal chords seemed frozen.

"One more thing," she said and snagged the amulet from around Dean's neck. He couldn't even glare of growl at her as she held it in the palm she had cut then took the knife and made a thin cut on Dean's arm and rubbed the amulet in it, mixing it with the blood in her palm. She took his chin in her hand and leaned over to whisper to him again.

"Now there's nothing you can do. You're my puppet and whatever I want to happen will."

Dean struggled to break her hold over him, but he couldn't. He was walking toward Sam, the knife held ready and his face fixed into a scowl he wasn't controlling. Sam looked relieved when he saw him, but that was shortly turned to confusion as Dean advanced on him with the knife, straining with everything he had to stop, but he could only twitch. He couldn't even stop himself from scowling.

"Dean," Sam said as his older brother came toward him. "What are you doing?"

_I don't know, Sammy!_ Dean screamed in his head but his mouth only peeled back in a sneer. He was right in front of his brother now, and Sam's confused expression turned into one of fear as Dean raised the knife and against everything warring inside of him, he dug it into his brother's flesh.

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah...sorry about the cliffie. I'll be back with the next chapter by friday. I'm trying to work out the next ones to make sure they're exactly how I want them. <strong>

**On another note, I'm planning on writing a little one-shot series about Cas figuring out or dealing with human things, kind of funny, humorous little stories. So if you have an idea for something you want to see Cas figure out with the help of the boys (or not) PM me about it. Not season specific, but I DO NOT write slash. Anything else goes...well, within reason :P**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm going to apologize in advance for this chapter because very bad and mean stuff happens. I'm sorry. Sometimes I wonder how I write this evil stuff. I hope everyone doesn't hate me after this :P**

**Warnings: Torture and general pain of all varieties. **

Chapter Four

Sam's first cry was one of shock, but he instantly clamped his mouth shut. Dean watched in horror as the knife slid into the meat of Sam's shoulder. He couldn't stop it. His eyes flew across the room to see Cassandra watching him with a satisfied smirk on her face.

"Good job, Dean," she crooned. "Now cut him again."

"Dean, what…?" Sam gasped, and Dean was helplessly sliding the knife from the wound again, making Sam cringe in pain and watched as blood dripped downward, soaking into the younger Winchester's t-shirt. Dean clenched his teeth, and for a moment, he thought he was fighting against Cassandra's spell, but then his left hand shot forward and gripped the neck of Sam's shirt while the knife tore into it, ripping it open. Sam's torso was exposed, and Dean saw with shock how skinny he was; not just his usual lankiness but thin, what with the poor eating and lack of sleep he had been experiencing in the past month. And here he was carving into his skinny frame, only making everything worse. He couldn't stop it, no matter how hard he tried. Before he knew it, he had made three cuts in Sam's chest, and was watching the blood drip down to the waistline of his jeans. He wanted to scream, to cry, something, but no part of his body was his own. He was Cassandra's puppet.

Sam was trying not to scream, but Dean knew that wasn't going to last long. He gasped from the pain, his whole body trembling, and finally pulled his head up to meet Dean's eyes.

"Dean, what did she say to you?" he asked. "It couldn't be so bad that she forced you to do this. Please, Dean…"

Dean was screaming inside, but all he could do was smile, his lips tugging upward involuntarily. "Sorry, Sammy," he said. "But I have to."

"No, Dean, don't…agh!" Dean cut him viciously across his exposed ribs. This time Sam couldn't keep the scream at bay and sagged before jerking backwards as Dean carved the knife in a line below his navel.

"Dean, please, don't, you don't have to do this, agh!" Dean made three more cuts against his will, all the time listening to Sam's alternated pleading and screaming. He just couldn't take this anymore. He _could not_ do this. He gripped the knife tight, and put everything he had into stopping. It worked, but he was fighting Cassandra, and he looked over at her, seeing her snarl of concentration, her fists clenched. He squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of pain washed through his body. Sam's head was hanging, nearly resting on Dean's shoulder, panting from the pain. Dean fought for a few more long seconds before a crippling pain through his head blinded him and the next thing he knew he was grabbing Sam by the hair and wrenching his head backwards as the younger brother gave a startled cry and Dean stabbed the knife into his side.

Sam didn't even try to muffle his scream this time, and Dean had to listen to more, as bad as last night, as he continued to carve him up. Finally in a fit of desperation he managed somehow to clamp his hand over Sam's mouth. That was as far as he could go to breaking Cassandra's hold on him this time and she almost seemed to approve of this new development, especially when she saw the look of surprised, pained betrayal jolt through Sam's eyes as he looked up at Dean. That made Dean regret his split second decision immediately, knowing it had been the wrong choice. Was he not even man enough to listen to his brother scream while he was torturing him? This shouldn't be made any easier on him, Sam didn't have any reason to muffle his screams on his account. It was just another cruelty that he was forcing his little brother to suffer and he hated himself for it, but now Cassandra wouldn't let him take it back.

Dean cut him across the hip and Sam gave a muffled scream against his hand. Dean dug his fingers into Sam's jaw hard and hissed, "Shut up, Sammy," at him. Just more words put on his tongue by Cassandra but painful even to him knowing they came out of his mouth.

Sam growled and dug his teeth into the meat of Dean's hand. Dean drew his hand back in surprise, the pain suddenly breaking the contact he had with Cassandra. He dropped the knife as he looked down at the bite mark at the base of his thumb with blood welling in it, a sudden link back to reality. Sam was shuddering and slumped in his bindings, blood dripping down his arms from his wrists, torn by the manacles in his struggles.

"Sam…" he tried, before his breath was taken away again with another blinding flash of pain in his head and he was once again back under Cassandra's control. She was suddenly behind him, her hand on his shoulder. She reached out and ran a hand down Sam's bleeding chest, digging her fingers into the wounds, making him flinch and cry out.

"Good job, Dean, I'm impressed. Who knew you had it in you." Her smile at him was poison. Dean wanted to wrap his hands around her throat and choke the life from her. She took Sam's face between her hands and forced him to look at her. "Who knew your brother was capable of that, eh, Sammy? I actually thought you were the most precious thing he had, but I guess we were both wrong."

Sam didn't say anything, and that broke Dean even further. He didn't even try to defend him. Not that he deserved it, but for Sammy to think that he had actually done that to him on purpose made him sick. How could he lose faith in him that easily?

"Pick the knife up, Dean," Cassandra said and he started to bend over when she stopped him. "No, on second thought, use your fists."

_Oh hell no, not that, please! _Dean pleaded silently and somehow thought Cassandra heard him because she smirked again as he balled up a fist and swung it at Sam's jaw.

"Dean!" he cried as he saw the strike coming and then was cut off with a grunt. Dean hit him again and again, until one side of Sam's face was bruised and swollen, his nose bleeding down his chest and then he drove a fist into Sam's already wounded stomach and the younger Winchester gasped out, but had no time to gain his breath before Dean sent punishing blows into his ribs until he felt them give under his knuckles, the feel and the sound making him sick. So sick that he broke through Cassandra's bond again with the help of Sam's hoarse scream.

"Stop…" Dean breathed, staggering back then gasped as Cassandra fought to take hold of him again.

"Just a little longer, Dean," she told him in a gentle voice that barely masked her pleasure at seeing their suffering.

Dean's hand was forced into a fist again and he slammed it into Sam's stomach several more times before bringing it up in a hard uppercut to Sam's jaw, snapping his head back and sending a jolt of pain through Dean's hand as he felt the sickening crack of his fingers.

That seemed to break the spell for good as he slumped to the ground, cradling his broken hand against his chest while he looked up in horror at Sam's apparently unconscious figure. Dean gave several shuddering breaths, tears sliding unbidden down his cheeks as he finally saw completely the damage he had caused to his baby brother. He groaned more from the inner agony than the physical.

"Sammy," he gasped out, trying to stand but Cassandra grabbed him by the back of his shirt and was hauling him away from Sam.

"No," he struggled in her grip, weakened by her spell and the mental agony he was enduring. "I'll kill you. I swear I will carve you up for what you made me do to my brother, bitch!" Dean screamed hoarsely.

Cassandra tutted and maneuvered him back into his chair. He struggled, wanting only to get to Sam, but she grabbed his broken hand and squeezed, causing him to cry out. She tied him with the ropes again, but didn't put the spell on them this time, figuring he was defeated enough. She smiled, taking Dean's amulet, still covered in his blood, from around her neck and looped it back over his head before patting his cheek.

"You did well, Dean, I was impressed. Poor Sammy! Can you imagine the emotional trauma he will be going through now, after enduring so much pain at the hands of his brother? And the best part is that he doesn't even seem to know you were under my control. He thought you did it all deliberately. That will make it all the more entertaining when you do it _again_ later. We'll try a few new tactics next time, can't have you two getting bored."

"I won't let you control me again," Dean said firmly. "I won't hurt him."

"That's what you said last time, Dean; honestly, your bravado is getting old. Have I not broken you yet?" She walked over to Sam's unconscious figure and reached up to unchain his hands again. He crumpled to the ground with a moan and instantly curled in on himself.

"Sammy!" Dean cried, swallowing hard. Sam only seemed to shudder at his voice. Cassandra kicked him in his broken ribs, making him cry out and wrap his arms around himself, and then walked back to Dean.

"I'm going to run a few errands. I need to pick up a few things before our next round. I trust you boys will be good," Cassandra said and smiled. "Not that you'll be going anywhere." She turned around and crossed the room to the door, closing it behind her.

Sam was stirring as soon as she was gone and Dean tested the ropes that bound him. Though they were not bound magically anymore, they were still tied too tightly for Dean to get out of on his own. But this might be their only chance of escape and he knew they had to take it.

"Sammy," he called softly. Sam didn't answer him. "Come, on, kiddo, we've gotta get out of here. Don't you want that? This is the only chance we're gonna get."

Sam shuddered and Dean thought he might be crying or maybe he was just trying to breathe past the pain in his ribs. Dean shoved away all his dark, self-flagellating thoughts, knowing that he couldn't let emotions get in his way now. They needed to stay sharp.

"Come on, Sammy, I need your help. You're free. You can untie me and we can get the hell out of here."

Sam stirred and finally managed slowly, and with much agony, to push himself up onto his elbows. He drew his knees under him and forced himself up with one hand, the other arm curled around his middle to support his broken ribs.

"That's it, Sammy," Dean coaxed, offering a smile that Sam wasn't even looking at. "Look, there's some broken glass from that bottle she broke before right under the chair. You should be able to cut through the rope with that."

Sam didn't say anything, his short pained gasps echoing around the room, tightening Dean's throat, with every move he made. He tried to stand, but only got one foot under him before he fell back onto his hands and knees, crying out as the fall jolted his ribs.

"Don't get up, Sammy, just…you're fine, come here," Dean coaxed, everything inside of him screaming to help his brother and he couldn't. He couldn't offer a shoulder to Sam until he had untied him, and even then, would he accept his help after what he had done?

Sam crawled painfully across the floor to him, blood dripping from his worse wounds and from his nose. He finally reached Dean's chair and scrambled under the seat to find the piece of glass. He slumped against Dean's knees, panting heavily and cringing every time he breathed, his one arm still wrapped tightly around his busted side. It was on Dean's tongue to tell him to hurry, but he didn't have the heart. Sam finally propped himself up with his back against Dean's knee and started working on Dean's right hand, the broken one. Dean bit the inside of his cheek at the pain he refused to let out. He didn't want Sam to know how much he was hurting him, though maybe it would give him some satisfaction instead. Who knew?

Sam had to pause several times in the messy sawing of the ropes, and more than once the glass shard slipped and sliced into Dean's wrist. He kept his mouth shut still, even as blood dripped down the chair arm, but finally Sam got through the rest of the rope and Dean wriggled his hand free.

"You do the rest," Sam grunted at him weakly.

Dean forced his broken hand to take the glass as Sam curled up on the floor at his feet, just trying to find a position that didn't hurt so much. Dean made several passes on the rope but just ended up slicing himself up. His broken hand refused to get a good grip on anything and the glass finally slipped out of his hand after cutting deeply into that palm as well.

"Sammy," he said softly. "I can't do it, man. My hand is…it's broken."

Sam painfully turned to look up at him once. A long look that Dean couldn't exactly read, and then silently reached over to take the glass shard again and slowly sawed through the other rope. After that hand was free, Dean wriggled out of the ropes bound around his chest and reached down to steady Sam, one hand on his shoulder and the other cupping the unbruised side of his face.

"Sammy," he whispered, his voice trembling as he ran his unbroken hand up through his brother's hair that was a disaster of blood and sweat.

Sam pulled away from him, a small flinch registering through his body. "Don't touch me," he whispered, barely audible, but Dean could read it in his body language as well. Something broke even further within his chest, but he had no time to think about that. He took his hands away from his brother and stood shakily, biting back a groan.

"We gotta get out of here; get patched up," he said conversationally just so he would have something to say, not expecting Sam to reply. He reached his good hand down, knowing Sam wasn't going to be able to get himself up, but it was slapped away with an angry vigor Dean didn't know Sam possessed at the moment. He stepped back, feeling like he had been punched in the gut and watched Sam use the chair to pull himself slowly to his feet. He wasn't able to get there though, and after several failed attempts and muffled whimpers, Dean couldn't take it anymore and grabbed hold of Sam, easing him up to his feet, and keeping a grip on the back of his ripped shirt, careful not to make contact with his broken ribs. Sam stiffened in protest, but Dean shook his head.

"No, man, you know you're not getting out of here by yourself."

Sam huffed in consent and put a reluctant arm around Dean's shoulders, instantly leaning heavily on him. Dean gripped the back of his jeans, afraid to touch him anywhere else and kept him upright as they got up out of the cellar and shuffled through the rest of the house. Dean spotted his leather jacket thrown carelessly under the table he had been tied to when he woke up and he stopped to pick it up, helping Sam into it. He didn't know where Sam's was, and he was afraid of him getting cold in his condition. Again, Sam didn't protest, but he didn't thank Dean either. Sam didn't say anything until they had made it to the back door and found themselves unable to go through it as if there were a brick wall there.

"Dean, the sigil," he murmured in answer to Dean's curse.

Dean looked up and saw a sigil that matched the one Cassandra had carved onto his wrist, painted in blood on the door. He propped Sam against the wall and reached into the jacket he was wearing, causing Sam to flinch as he accidently brushed against his ribs. Dean apologized and fished out a dagger. He turned his wrist over and cut through the sigil, feeling a connection he didn't know was there break. He then grabbed Sam's wrist and did the same, hearing the sharp gasp as Sam yanked his hand back again. Dean chose not to say anything about it, as he grabbed Sam again and they successfully made it out of the house.

"What are we going to do about Cassandra?" Sam slurred. "We can't just leave her here."

"We'll come gank her later," Dean said, wanting nothing more than to do it now and be done, but not about to take the chance just then with them so beat to hell, and her spell likely still inside of him. He wasn't going to risk hurting Sammy again. He would kill himself before he let that happen a second time. "Right now we need to get you taken care of. Let's just hope the Impala is still where I parked her."

"Dean," Sam gasped as they started on again, his body rigid with pain.

"Sammy," Dean sighed, stopping a moment and turning to face his little brother, unable to ignore it any longer. "That wasn't me, all right? You know I wouldn't hurt you like that. She had me under a spell, I was just her puppet. You gotta believe me. I'm not making excuses, but I…"

"Just stop, Dean," Sam told him, sniffing and reaching up to wipe blood from his upper lip. "You could have pulled your punches."

"I tried, Sammy," Dean told him, his throat tightening.

"You didn't look like you were trying," Sam hissed at him. "You say you were under a spell, but your eyes…I know she said something to you. What did she say to make you do it?"

"Nothing, Sam, she put me under a spell! That's the truth, I don't know what else to say," Dean said and started forward again, afraid Cassandra would come back and find they had escaped. They had already taken enough time as it was. "Now come on. I'm gonna take care of you just like I always have. Everything's gonna be okay now, Sam. You'll see."

"No, Dean," Sam said, stopping again. "Everything is not going to be okay. Are you just willing to forget what happened back there? What you…what you did to me?" Sam's jaw was trembling, pain written across his features. "That's anything but all right, Dean. You—you _beat _me, Dean, and you p-put your hand over my m-mouth, just so you wouldn't have to hear me scream, when you could have just _stopped_." Sam doubled over with a pained moan, his angry speech affecting his broken ribs. Dean gripped him tightly to keep him from going to the ground, Sam's words crashing through him like a thousand knives slicing him up.

"Sammy, I don't know what to say. I wish you'd believe me when I said I was screaming to stop it all, that it wasn't me controlling the knife."

"Whatever, Dean, let's just get out of here," Sam panted hoarsely as he straightened up. Dean pulled him forward again, wanting to say a thousand things and knowing Sam wouldn't listen to any of them. The fact that his brother didn't believe him was tearing him up. He didn't know what he was going to do about that.

Thankfully the Impala was where he had left it and he managed to get Sam into the passenger's seat and then climbed behind the wheel himself. His bad arm was folded against his stomach, his hand a continuous jangle of pain and curled into a useless claw. He knew he was going to have to set the broken fingers if he wanted to use them again, but the thought made him cringe, especially without Sam to help do it. He cast a glance over at his brother, curled up against the door on his unbroken side, his back firmly facing Dean as he shuddered whether in pain or cold, Dean couldn't tell for sure. He wanted to reach out and grip the back of his brother's neck like he usually did and tell him it was all going to be okay, but Sam had already established that he didn't give a crap for his reassurances. He wasn't even entirely certain Sam was going to let him care for his injuries. He could take him to a clinic, but there would be too many questions he didn't want to have to answer.

"Hell," he muttered, groaning as he shifted to dig into the pocket of his jeans, sending up a silent thank you that his keys were still there. He awkwardly started the car with his left hand and pulled out into the street, driving one-handed and cringing at the ache coming from his wounded shoulder, having to work overtime in compensation. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure he would be able to properly take care of Sam with his injuries whether his little brother let him or not. If he ruled out the clinic, that only left one option he could think of and it was one that he liked quite a bit better than anything else. It was a bit further than he wanted to travel in his and Sam's conditions, but the more he thought about it, the more he thought the idea was the best one. He quickly made a U-turn and stepped on the gas.

Sam moaned as he was pressed against the door from the turn. "Where are we going?"

"We're goin' to see Uncle Bobby," Dean told him and settled in for the painful drive, hoping he'd get them there before he passed out.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry, I know that was bad *hides* And I know the boys didn't reunite with Bobby until the end of the first season, but I love Bobby and he's what they need right now, so he's going in this story. I guess that makes it kind of AU. I should have the next chapter up by sunday :)<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, so this chapter is a little nicer than the last one, I promise! But there's still a bit to go before the boys heal. And thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, faved and followed so far! And a special thanks to the guests who I can't reply to. Hope you have all been having a good weekend! Enjoy this chapter :)**

Chapter Five

Sam was almost instantly incoherent as soon as they were on the road and Dean kept glancing at him worriedly. He couldn't see the blood still seeping from his wounds since he was wearing the leather jacket, but he knew there was plenty of it. He hadn't carved lightly with the knife, some of the wounds were deep and into the muscle. They would certainly need stitching, and his ribs needed binding too. Dean thought, hoped, they were just cracked, and on the plus side, Sam wasn't coughing up blood, but it didn't really matter either. When it came down to it, all the injuries had been inflicted by Dean, and he wasn't going to be okay with that. Ever. Maybe he should have just done it voluntarily and had the option of pulling his punches. But he figured in the long run it would have turned out the same, and he knew he couldn't have lived with himself if he had voluntarily hurt Sammy. That was the only thing worse than what had actually happened.

He drove through the night, exhausted, everything hurting more by the hour, and his hand so painful that a sob caught in his throat every time it was jostled going over a bump. Damn, he just needed to get there.

Sam had slid down against the window, curled up on the seat, his long legs pulled to his chest. Dean wanted to make him more comfortable, but didn't want to touch him. It was better that Sam was unconscious than hurting. Maybe it would give him a bit of a respite from what had happened. Dean wished he could have the same.

He finally entered Sioux Falls as dawn broke. It had been a while since they had seen Bobby, but he knew that their surrogate uncle would take them in, and fix them up, give them a place to crash until they could go hunt again. At least the physical wounds. Dean didn't have much hope for Bobby helping them fix the other problems.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled in at Singer Salvage, the sight of the old ramshackle place the best thing he had ever seen in his life. He reached over and touched Sam's shoulder gently. Sam jerked up and cried out as his body protested the sharp movement.

"Sammy," Dean said gently, trying not to show how much it hurt him when Sam shied away from his hand. "We're here at Bobby's."

Sam winced as he tried to sit up and Dean opened his door and went around the car. Standing proved painful, for he had stiffened from the long drive, and the blood painting his t-shirt had dried stiff and was sticking painfully to his wounds. He didn't even want to think about his hand. He felt unsteady and about ready to drop but he sucked it up, because he knew it was nothing compared to what Sam was going through right now.

He opened Sam's door and just barely caught him before he fell out onto the ground. He had to use his bad hand and bit back a howl. At least Sam grabbed his arms to help a bit, but turned away from Dean again after he was out of the car and more or less on his feet. Dean kept a firm hand on him to keep him upright and as Sam sagged even more he finally threw care to the wind and slung Sam's arm over his shoulders. Sam didn't protest and that worried Dean. He didn't think Sam was so willing to forgive him that easily so he must be in a bad way.

The walk to the door almost seemed longer than the drive had been, but Dean dragged Sam along, listening to his pained gasps the whole way and had to shuffle his little brother around and prop him against the jamb just so he could knock on the door with his good hand.

It seemed ages before he heard locks being opened and then finally the door itself swung in to reveal Bobby with a glare on his face and a shotgun help up in a businesslike manner. However he lowered it with a look of shock as he saw who was standing on his doorstep.

"Sam, Dean?" he asked.

"Hey Uncle Bobby," Dean said, forcing a small smile. "We, um, we kind of need some help."

And that was when he felt himself falling, unable to stop himself. He tried one last attempt to grab hold of consciousness, to not let Sammy fall with him, but he just couldn't anymore.

But he heard a curse and felt himself stopped before he hit the floor, and clutched onto the person that smelled like whisky and gunpowder. And because he knew he was safe he allowed himself to let go and fall into the comfortable blackness that awaited him.

* * *

><p>"<em>Damn but you boys are beat to hell."<em>

Dean startled awake as he felt a painful tugging at his wounds and gasped, trying to sit up, but was shoved back with a firm hand onto something moderately soft.

"Easy, kiddo, let me finish here before you go and ruin my work."

Dean relaxed with a sigh of relief at Bobby's familiar voice. He realized he was laying on the couch in the living room/study. It was musty and close and there were piles of dusty old books lying everywhere but it was exactly how Dean had remembered it as a kid, and it wrapped him up like a warm blanket. He gritted his teeth as Bobby continued doing sutures on the deep cut across his ribs. His shoulder was patched up already and this one seemed to be the last except his hand.

"Where's Sam?" Dean croaked, clearing his throat. Bobby stopped and reached for a cup. He raised Dean's head and let him drink. Dean hadn't realized how thirsty he was, but then remembered that he hadn't actually drunk or eaten anything for the better part of two days. He nearly choked in his haste to get something wet down his throat.

"Easy, boy, don't drown yourself now that I've got the rest of you patched up! It ain't comin' out the holes anymore," Bobby scolded as he set the cup aside again and finished the sutures. "Sam's resting up in the guest room. I took him right up there because it looked like he needed a real bed. I patched him up as best I could, but he's lost a lot of blood, and he ain't saying what happened. I tried to ask him but he refused to say anything about it. I don't know what you two idjits have gotten into now, but he looks like he went through a meat grinder."

Dean flinched and closed his eyes at the blunt imagery. "I did it, Bobby," he said quietly, his throat tightening just to admit it. But he had to talk to someone about what had happened or it would eat him up. He was usually so reluctant to talk about things, but this time was different. It wasn't just about him, it was about Sam, and he didn't know what to do.

"Excuse me?" Bobby asked harshly.

Dean opened his eyes to meet the old hunter's. "We were on a hunt involving a witch, but there turned out to be two. We killed one, but his twin sister nabbed us for revenge. She…she hexed me, Bobby, took over my body and she…" he took a deep breath and gritted his teeth, not even wanting to say it. "She forced me to hurt Sammy. _I_ did that to him and I couldn't stop myself no matter how hard I tried. And Sam doesn't believe I was under a spell, he thinks I did it on purpose or something, I don't know."

Bobby sat back in the chair he was sitting in by the couch and ran a hand over his face. "Damn, boys. I swear you get into the worse trouble. No wonder he didn't want to talk to me about it. That boy has got some serious issues right now."

Dean didn't know what to say, he just rolled his head to the side and closed his eyes, wishing for unconsciousness again. Bobby bandaged him up then sighed and got up before coming back with a bottle of whisky.

"Drink up," he said, sitting back down and pressing it to Dean's lips.

"Why?" Dean asked. "Apart from the obvious."

"I gotta set that hand of yours, and I don't think you want me to do it when you're sober," Bobby said grimly.

Dean swallowed hard and shook his head, taking the bottle in his good hand and downing several good swigs of it. After he felt a dull buzz settle over him he handed it back to Bobby reluctantly and settled in for the coming pain.

Bobby pulled his hand over onto his knee and gripped the wrist tightly in one hand. He motioned to Dean's other hand. "That ain't some nasty bite, is it?"

Dean felt another wave of pain go through him and he instantly curled his left hand into a fist. "It's from Sam."

Bobby tactfully didn't say anything else. "You ready, kid?"

Dean shook his head but braced himself. "Do it."

Bobby swiftly took hold of one finger and tugged hard. Dean screamed, unable to help himself as he felt it pop back into place. He dug his good hand into the couch cushion and drew his legs up at the pain, tugging involuntarily at the grip Bobby had on his hand.

"Easy, boy," Bobby said evenly and went right on to the next one. Tears squeezed out of Dean's eyes this time.

By the third finger he mercifully slipped back into unconsciousness.

* * *

><p><em>Dean woke later<em> much more fuzzy, to the smell of cooking. He found himself still on Bobby's couch but wrapped in a blanket now with his broken hand on top, resting over his stomach. It had been splinted and bandaged within an inch of its life. But it didn't give off more than a dull ache, so he was grateful.

He sat up with a groan and swung his legs over the side of the couch. He was about to try and stand when Bobby appeared from the kitchen and came to help him.

"I'm fine, Bobby, just give me a minute," Dean said, slightly annoyed, but too tired to put much effort into it.

"Your legs might be fine, but you won't get off the couch with that hand and that shoulder without help," the older hunter informed him as he put a hand under Dean's good shoulder, being careful of his hand, and eased him to his feet. Dean wavered and Bobby kept a firm hold on his elbow as he led him into the kitchen. Once Dean was settled at the table, Bobby disappeared and came back with a sweatshirt.

"I got your bags out of the car," he told Dean and the younger man gratefully tugged on the sweatshirt, feeling cold and exposed in nothing but bandages up top. It took a little bit of doing but he managed it.

"I thought I'd make some chili," Bobby told him with a smile.

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, his stomach growling in agreement. "I haven't eaten in, well, a while."

"Figured that." Bobby turned around from checking the stove and leaned against the counter. "Your hand will mend, by the way. The breaks were clean enough, but we'll have to keep them bound up well for the next few days. Good thing you have your other hand because I sure as hell ain't helping you in the bathroom."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, don't worry, I wouldn't enjoy that any more than you would."

Bobby went back to the stove and tested the chili before dishing a bowl out and setting it in front of Dean. "Eat up. I'm going to go see if Sam wants any."

Dean turned around as if to stand. "I'll go with you, I want to see him."

Bobby's hand fell onto his shoulder. "Let me deal with him for now, Dean. You eat so maybe you might just make it up the stairs. Eat."

"Yes, sir." Dean turned back to his bowl, knowing he wasn't going to win that argument. He dug in and didn't even care when the chili scalded his tongue. He was starving, and had finished by the time Bobby came back down. He refilled Dean's bowl without a word and went to the cupboard.

"How's Sammy?" Dean asked.

Bobby sighed. "The kid's not in a good way. I think he's getting a fever, though I don't know whether it's from his wounds or just stress. I think I'm gonna make him some chicken soup instead. Don't think chili is the best thing for him right now."

He found a can of soup and Dean continued to eat as he heated it. He felt better already after getting food into his stomach. "Can I take it up to him, Bobby?"

Bobby gave him a longsuffering look. "If I thought you could carry it up the stairs and not fall on your ass, maybe, but besides that, I don't know if Sam wants to see you right now, Dean. Maybe you should let him cool off for a little. What happened to him ain't no walk in the part. Until he comes to his senses, I don't know if you should go see him. Just let me get something into him first, and then we'll see how he feels after that."

Dean glared at Bobby, but figured the older man was right, especially knowing Sam as he did. He was determined to see him and no one was going to stop him, but he would let Bobby soothe the beast first. Maybe he was a coward, but he didn't want to cause Sam any hurt by showing up unwanted, and since he was walking on eggshells around his brother now, already—and who could blame that?—he decided to heed Bobby's advice and wait a while.

While Bobby was upstairs feeding Sam, Dean made his own way back into the living room and rested back on the couch, turning the TV on. He wasn't paying attention to it though, unable to stop thinking of Sam. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was his knife sliding through his brother's flesh, feel the give of it and hear Sammy's screams as he couldn't understand why his brother was hurting him. Even worse was the sensation of his fists hitting Sam's already ripped up torso, his face. His ribs cracking under his knuckles.

Dean gave an involuntary gasp, not having realized he had drifted off and was having nightmares, reliving what had happened. Bobby was standing in front of him with an empty bowl, watching the elder Winchester worriedly.

"You all right, son?" he asked.

Dean swallowed hard and nodded, running his hand over his face. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Did Sam eat?"

Bobby smiled slightly at Dean's concern for his brother—Sam always went first in his book. "He did. I gave him something for the fever, but he's pretty tired. He should be asleep by now."

"Can I go see him?" Dean asked, already starting to struggle up from the couch.

Bobby opened his mouth to protest but realizing it would do no good, he relented and pulled Dean to his feet. "All right, Dean, but if he's asleep, don't wake him up."

"I just want to see him," Dean said quietly, sounding so young it nearly broke Bobby's heart. Forget Sam and his infernal puppy eyes, both these boys knew exactly how to get him to allow them to do anything they wanted.

"I know, kid, just don't kill yourself going upstairs. Balls, you two are so damn stubborn." Bobby retreated into the kitchen with a longsuffering sigh, muttering to himself as Dean made his way to the stairs.

Despite Bobby's lack of faith, he made it without mishap and crossed the hall to the guest room that had always been theirs when they came to stay. Dean couldn't help a small smile as he pushed open the already cracked door and stepped inside, seeing the cozy room with the two twin beds covered in homey patchwork quilts.

Sam now occupied the one farthest from the door, looking big and almost comical in the bed that his lanky frame just barely fit into now. Dean would have chuckled if it hadn't been for Sam's face, screwed up in pain, whether physical or mental, Dean wasn't sure, but he knew that whatever it was, he had been the cause of it.

He walked into the room and slumped down on the other bed, just watching his brother for a few moments, his labored breathing, and the soft whimpers that escaped now and again the only sound in the room. He was laying on his side, curled into himself slightly underneath the quilt and another blanket Bobby likely added in fear of shock taking over.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean whispered, his chest aching with the knowledge that he had been the cause of all this. Every pained line on his little brother's face, that had been him. "I wish we could go back and gank her. I should have listened to you when you said she was hiding something. This might have never happened if I had."

Sam suddenly flinched and moaned, his hand fisting into his pillow where it lay by his cheek, his whole body tensing. Dean stood and crossed to the other bed, unable to help himself. He could never watch Sammy in a nightmare and not do anything about it. He reached out with his good hand and softly smoothed back the shaggy bangs on Sam's forehead feeling how hot his skin was.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he whispered again, running his thumb over Sam's forehead. "Let me know how I can fix this."

For a moment, Sam seemed to relax, quieting under his big brother's comforting and familiar touch, and Dean did too, thinking that even if it was just Sam's subconscious at least he didn't think he was a total monster. But then Sam shifted again and his eyes fluttered open. He blinked several times but when he saw Dean there, smiling at him, he pulled back and glared at his brother.

"Leave me alone," he croaked.

"Sammy, I just want to help," Dean said only wishing he knew what to do.

"I don't want your help," Sam told him. "Go away, Dean."

Dean stood up, hurting inside but decided leaving would be the best thing to do. He wanted to shake Sam, to shout it out and figure out their differences, but he just seemed to fragile at that moment, that he couldn't think of it. He just surrendered. "Okay, Sammy. But if you need me, just let me know."

There was silence from the bed, and Dean reluctantly turned and left the room. He met Bobby on his way down the stairs and the older hunter raised his eyebrows in inquiry.

"He doesn't want me right now," Dean told him bitterly. "I really screwed this up, didn't I?"

"Yeah, maybe, but it ain't your fault, Dean, so no angst fest, ya hear me? Sam will get better and when he does, he'll realize what really happened and you'll work it out. He's just been through a bad ordeal and he's scared and trying to make sense of it. I'll do what I can, but I think it's something you two are gonna have to work out by yourselves. It just might take time. Things don't work themselves out instantly, you know."

"I know, Bobby," Dean said, slumping to the couch again. "It's just…" he swallowed hard. "We were just starting to be brothers again."

Bobby settled a fond hand on Dean's head and handed him his flask. "And you two have been through enough to know things always get bad before they get good again. You'll work it out this time just like you always have."

"I sure as hell hope so, Bobby," Dean said and took a long swig from the flask.

* * *

><p><em>Later that night, Bobby had<em> gone to see to Sam again. His fever took a turn for the worse, and Dean wanted nothing more than to go help care for his little brother but was afraid after the episode earlier that he would only make it worse. So he sat on the couch and watched TV and wanted to sleep, but was too uncomfortable.

He finally couldn't take it any longer and stood with difficulty before making his way toward the stairs. Once at the top he stood outside the door to the guest room. He thought he might just go in and climb into the second bed. It would be more comfortable than the couch and he would be near Sam, and surely his little brother couldn't hate him for wanting to get some good rest?

But as he got to the door that was open a few inches, he heard Sammy crying and Bobby trying to reassure him, and the sound stopped him dead and clutched at his heart so that he could hardly breathe. He peeked through the opening, and saw Sam still curled up on his side like before, clutching a pillow to him, which he had his face buried in. Bobby was sitting by the bed with a damp washcloth to keep the fever down, and running his fingers soothingly through Sam's long mop of hair.

"It's all right, kiddo, everything will be okay," he was saying.

Dean felt terrible. That should be him sitting by Sam and taking care of him, and yet he couldn't. Sam didn't want him now, not after what he had done. His presence would only make it worse. How could he expect to comfort his little brother with the same hands he had used to inflict such pain with? Ones that had been bathed in his own brother's blood.

A tear slid down his cheek and he turned away quickly, unable to see Sammy in pain any longer. He would sleep on the couch tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey everyone! Back with another chapter :) This one is a bit short, but the next one will be longer. I hope everyone is still enjoying this and that it doesn't seem out of character or anything. The boys are being stubborn idjits are usual. Thanks to everyone who has been following this story so far, your reviews and comments always mean so much and also help me figure out where I want to go with the story on occasion. The muse never rests ;) **

Chapter Six

Dean woke early the next morning before the sun came up. He had only been sleeping for a few hours, it having taken a long time for him to fall asleep last night. He dreamed all night of hurting Sam and worse, sometimes watching his life seep out under his hands, and had woken more than once in a cold sweat. His wounds ached from his bad sleep and he couldn't sit still anymore, so he made his way as quietly as possible upstairs again to check on Sam.

This time he found Bobby asleep, resting back in the chair with his feet propped on Sam's bed. Sam seemed to be asleep as well, and at the moment, not having nightmares so that at least was one good thing. But he looked terrible in every other way with dark circles under his eyes mixing with the bruises, and sweat dampened hair clinging to his forehead. Dean could tell the fever was still in him, though maybe not quite so bad anymore, at least lowered enough to let Sam sleep, but he had kicked off most of his blankets and there was just one left tangled around his legs revealing the wounds that covered Sam's torso.

That was what stopped Dean. He hadn't had time to really look at them the day before being busy trying to get them away from Cassandra, but there were so many, and the bruises framed them and make them look even more horrific. There was still one bandage wrapped around Sam's middle to support his broken ribs, but Bobby must have left off the others for now so they wouldn't rub the wounds amid Sam's fevered thrashing. There was blood on the one bandage, and above and below it were the rest of the wounds and bruises that Dean had put there, clearly visible. Sam really did look like he had gone through a meat grinder as Bobby had so tactfully put it the day before. And it only seemed to look worse because of Sam's recent debacle of health with the poor sleep and bad eating. He looked broken lying there and Dean wasn't okay with that. Normally, he would have gone out and hunted down the son of a bitch who had done that to his little brother, but it had been him this time. Sure, Cassandra was the one really responsible, but Dean had still been the one to make the cuts and the bruises. It was still his hand that had done the hurting.

The sight and the memories from the ordeal came crashing down on him and he had to run to the bathroom where he vomited, heaving as if his body was trying to purge the memories and not just last night's dinner. He was hardly aware of Bobby's presence as the older hunter came into the room silently and handed Dean a washcloth and a cup of water when he had finished.

Dean tried to take the cup, but his hand shook so badly, he spilled it on the floor. Bobby sighed and knelt down, gripping Dean by the back of the neck and held the cup in front of him.

"Breathe," he commanded and Dean tried to calm his rapid breaths before he hyperventilated. He finally rinsed his mouth out and then took several small sips of the water before slumping against the wall of the small bathroom, pulling his knees up to his chest. Bobby flushed the toilet and closed the lid so he could sit on it and face Dean.

"You okay, son?" he asked, handing Dean the washcloth again.

Dean took it this time and scrubbed it over his face, the coolness helping to steady him a bit. He shook his head.

"No, I'm not okay, Bobby," he ground out. "I tore my brother up, and you ask if I'm okay? Hell no."

Bobby leaned forward and squeezed one of Dean's knees. "You know it wasn't your fault, Dean. The only thing you can do now is not wallow in self-pity and concentrate on getting better so you can hunt the bitch down and kill her so she doesn't hurt anyone else. Okay?"

"But what about Sam?" Dean asked. "Bobby, he's been in a bad place already, he didn't need this crap on top of it. First Dad goes missing, then Sam loses his girlfriend and I suddenly go ballistic and start carving him up? Can't you see what he's going through, Bobby? And worst of all, I don't know how to help him, because he won't let me."

Bobby sighed. "Dean, Sam is going to be okay. I'm sure of it. He's a strong kid, and I know he'll eventually see sense when he's not sick and hurt, but you've gotta give it time. I know you're impatient, but that's the only way you can heal that kind of hurt."

"And what if it doesn't heal, Bobby?" Dean asked quietly, voicing his deepest fears for the first time. "What if he never believes me, and he thinks I did it on purpose?"

"He'll realize the truth," Bobby told him with far more surety than Dean felt. "You're his big brother, Dean, Sam trusts you more than anyone else in this world. He might be confused and scared now, but he'll see eventually what went on. He's a smart kid, you've got to give him some credit."

Dean was silent for a long time, his body still trembling from his bout of sickness. He felt weak and scared, and normally he would have kicked his own ass for that, but at that moment he didn't care. What was wrong with him?

Bobby stood up with a grunt. "I'm going to make some coffee. You can come down when you're ready. You ain't gonna be sick again, are ya?"

Dean shook his head, rubbing his good hand over his face. "No, I don't think so. Not right now."

"If you wanna clean up a little bit, be my guest," Bobby told him. "I wouldn't suggest an actual shower with your hand all wrapped up, but you can wash off a little, just be careful of the stitches, I spent a lot of time on that fine embroidery."

Dean shook his head. "I'm good."

Bobby folded his arms across his chest. "I'm suggestin' it because you reek, idjit. Perhaps I should make myself more clear: if you want to stay in this house, take a damn bath!"

Dean cracked a smile despite everything and let Bobby see it. "Yes, sir."

"That's better," Bobby told him and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Dean eased himself upright with some reluctance and made several attempts to take his shirt off, finally managing it painfully on the third try. He took a washrag and soap and bent over the sink to wash himself as much as possible. The hot water against his skin felt good and refreshed him, making him feel more human and worked to relax his muscles from their tense state all night. It was good to wash off the sweat from his nightmares.

He toweled his hair dry as he wondered where Bobby had put his clothes, then figured both their bags were probably in the guest room. He almost didn't want to go in there, and his stomach flipped at the thought of seeing Sam's wounds again, but he sucked it up and decided finding clean clothes would be his first priority.

Thankfully, Bobby had covered Sam with a blanket again and Dean just felt sad seeing his brother's hollow cheeks and lank hair resting on the pillow. He did find his bag, and pulled out new clothes, quickly changing into them. He was about to leave the room when Sam flinched and moaned in his sleep.

"Dean, no," he murmured. Dean froze and took a step toward the bed, instinctively wanting to wake Sam up to get him out of his nightmare.

"Sammy?" he asked quietly, wondering if Sam actually was asleep or if he were awake.

"No, please stop, why?" Sam moaned, raising a hand in front of his face as if fending someone off. Someone like Dean.

Dean's heart lurched as he made a quick retreat from the room, knowing he would do no good there. He went down the stairs more quickly than he should have, and found Bobby pouring a cup of coffee.

"Sam's having a nightmare, and I can't…" he started, unable to go on.

Bobby saw what went unsaid in his eyes and without a word, he left the room and went to see to the younger Winchester. Dean slumped down at the table and buried his face in his arms. Okay, he was really going to have to get ahold of himself if he was going to be any good to Sam at all. Maybe he needed to do something. What he really needed was a hunt, but he couldn't hunt in his condition. Maybe between him and Bobby they could figure out where Cassandra was so that when he was well enough again he could go and gank her as promised. He was sure she had probably left her previous residence if she had any grain of sense and finding her was probably not going to be the easiest thing to do. Of course, there was always the option of her going after the Winchesters herself. Dean figured she probably wasn't too happy about the fact that they got away.

His head shot up as he heard a creak in the floorboards and Bobby came back into the kitchen with a weary look on his face.

"You boys get yourselves into the worst trouble, you know that?" Bobby said. "I don't even know what to do with you two apart from extreme couple's counseling."

"Very funny," Dean growled.

"All I know is you two need to hug it out or something," Bobby continued only half in jest, "because that kid is all kinds of messed up. The stuff I heard him rambling about last night from his nightmares made my skin crawl. And it's not just you, Dean. Half the time he's afraid of losing you, and the other half, he wants you to get away from him. I'm making an intervention as soon as he's lucid."

"And how do you think that will go, Bobby?" Dean asked angrily. "He's not even gonna talk to me, he can't even look at me without seeing the person who tortured him. I'm the one person who he should always know he can depend on, and then this happened. Now what am I supposed to do? How can I get him to trust me again? And how can I blame him if he doesn't."

"I don't have all the answers, Dean, but I do know that nothing is ever figured out by ignoring the problem or each other." Bobby went over to the fridge and fished around to find something for breakfast. "Now, you need to eat. Start with some coffee?"

"Is it Irish?" Dean asked half-heartedly as Bobby set a steaming cup in front of him. He looked at it without the usual interest. "I'm not hungry."

"Yeah, well, you're gonna eat, because you sure as hell ain't gonna do Sam any good if you get sick too. Eggs and bacon?"

"Fine," Dean replied and took a sip of the coffee. "After breakfast can you help me track down Cassandra?"

"That's a start, I guess," Bobby muttered.

Dean clutched the cup tightly in his hands. It was a start, but he knew it still wouldn't help with Sam. Only he could do that, and he was afraid he didn't have the patience or the strength to convince Sam of the truth. But to hell with that, he was going to do it anyway, because he wasn't going to lose his brother again. Not after they had just gotten back together like the old days. No, even if he failed, it wouldn't be for lack of trying.

But for now, he was going to start with finding Cassandra and work on making the bitch pay.


	7. Chapter 7

**On to the next chapter, folks! This one contains Winchesters trying to solve their own issues. Which means that things probably aren't going to go smoothly. Hope you all enjoy, and that you've been having a good weekend!**

Chapter Seven

The next few days passed slowly. Dean and Bobby made little progress on finding Cassandra's whereabouts, but Bobby sent out a hunter's APB to everyone he knew so if Cassandra dared show her face anywhere near another hunter they would be onto her. Dean knew she was smart, but he also knew that she had a temper as the petty murders she and her brother committed could attest. He also knew that he and Sam were her number one targets right now, so he wasn't entirely certain that if they didn't just sit tight she wouldn't find them herself and save them the trouble.

And they had enough trouble as it was already. For himself, Dean was getting better, though his shoulder was still sore and stiff and his hand still useless, but aside from the physical wounds, he wasn't sleeping well at all, continuing his stay on the couch until Sam felt comfortable enough for him to sleep in the same room as he did. Bobby told him he was being an idjit and to just stay in the room anyway, but Dean didn't want Sam to wake up from a nightmare in the middle of the night about Dean torturing him and see Dean himself only feet away. The kid was in bad enough of a debacle as it was; he didn't need more to flip him to the crazy side. Besides, Dean wasn't sure how many times he could stand seeing that betrayal and fear on Sam's face. He had always been the one to soothe that, not cause it.

So Dean tried his best to avoid Sam as much as possible, except to check on his several times a day when he knew he was asleep. He couldn't help that, even though seeing Sam sent an ache of self-hatred through his chest, he had to see that he was still all right. Bobby painstakingly took care of the younger Winchester by himself, but Dean could tell it was wearing on the old hunter, and he knew Bobby's silence on the matter wasn't going to last much longer. Sam was still unable to get out of bed by himself, much less walk across the hall to the bathroom, so Bobby had to get up in the middle of the night to help him, not to mention change his bandages, bring him food and force him to eat, and clean up vomit that was the result of too much food too soon during Sam's fever that at least had disappeared after several days being terribly stubborn. Dean knew well enough that their father never would have done half the things Bobby did for them. He would have told the boys to suck it up and make Dean take care of his brother even if it proved traumatizing to Sam. That made Dean only feel worse about putting the burden on Bobby but he just couldn't do that to his little brother. He knew what was best for Sam and he wasn't going to compromise anything else for that.

He sat outside on the porch one morning with his untouched cup of coffee beside him. He had needed some fresh air, but it didn't seem to be doing anything to clear his head. He had hardly slept at all the night before because Sam had had a particularly bad bout of nightmares and his screaming kept waking him up. It had set all his nerves on end and kept his body from relaxing.

He started as the door opened and heavy steps creaked out to stand behind him.

"Dean," Bobby called him. "Come inside, I wanna talk to you."

"I'm not really in the mood, Bobby," Dean muttered, running his hand over his face.

"Dean Winchester," the older hunter said in no uncertain terms. "You get off your ass and inside right now."

Dean sat up straight and pulled himself to his feet, knowing he couldn't argue with that. Bobby stood aside to let him in and then motioned for him to sit at the table before he leaned on it to look Dean in the eye.

"You need to talk to your brother, Dean," he said. "I don't care what happens, I don't care what you two say to each other, or how long it takes, but I'm trying to get you to see sense, and you need to do the same for Sam. You idjits are the most stubborn people, apart from your daddy that I have ever met in my entire life. But you're stupid too, because you can't see anything clearly, can you?"

"Bobby, I only know that Sam doesn't want to see me. He thinks I'm a monster," Dean protested, his good hand clenching into a fist. He could feel the healed indents Sam's teeth had made there. A constant reminder of the unforgivable things he had put his brother through.

"And that's because you've done nothing to assure him otherwise since you got here. You've hidden away from him; how can you expect him to think any different if you don't at least _try_ to talk to him? Every time he has a nightmare it sets him on edge again. I know you think that you being there will only make it worse, but I think not being there will do more damage than not."

"I did try to talk to him! And he just told me to go away," Dean retorted. "I don't think it's going to go any better now!"

"Well, whether or not it goes well, I'm going to lock you two into that room until you kiss and make up."

"I'm not kissing him," Dean said with a touch of his old wry humor.

"Well, you just do what you need to, Dean," Bobby said. "But get your ass up there now before I kick it six ways to Sunday."

"Yes sir," Dean said with a growl and shoved himself up from the table and went to do just what Bobby asked.

He stomped up the stairs, angry, and determined, but hesitated on the landing, just before he got to the room. His good hand was still clenched at his side, but it slackened and all the anger went out of him with a deep sigh. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the door, his hand on the knob.

"Sammy?" he called softly.

There was no answer, and Dean squeezed his eyes shut and fought the urge to turn away, forcing his hand to open the door and step inside.

Sam lay on the bed with his eyes closed, but Dean didn't think he was asleep. He closed the door behind him and went to the other bed, sitting down on it and leaning forward, resting his forearms on his thighs.

"Sam, I know you don't want to talk to me right now, and you don't have to say anything, but I do want you to listen."

Sam shifted slightly and sniffed, but didn't open his eyes. Dean took that as an invitation to go on.

"You know I'm your big brother, Sammy. I've always looked after you; hell, I can't remember much before that. It wasn't just my job, wasn't just an order Dad gave me, but because I cared. I really do care about my pain in the ass little brother, you know." He smiled a little and watched Sam's face for some reaction, but his heart sank when he didn't see any. "What I'm trying to say, Sam, is that I would never hurt you on purpose. You know that…I _hope_ you would know that, anyway. So I'm wondering…" he took a deep breath, ashamed at how shaky it was, before he went on. "I'm wondering why you seem to think that I purposefully took a knife to you, Sam. You know I would never hurt my little brother like that."

There it was. Sam flinched at the word 'knife'. His breath caught and shuddered in his chest and he finally opened his eyes. Dean bent to look into them. "You there, Sammy?"

"Dean, I just…" Sam started and then shook his head. "Forget it, just go away, please." He tried to roll over to put his back to Dean, forgetting that he would be moving to his injured side. He gasped and Dean was across the room before he could help himself, instinct kicking in and he pulled Sam around and propped him up with a supporting arm around his shoulders. Sam instinctively clutched his shirt as he fought for breath, but as soon as he got it back, he let go and shrugged Dean off, only resulting in hurting himself more.

"No, no, Sammy, stop," Dean pleaded, and knelt on the floor, grabbing onto Sam's shoulders as gently as he could to keep him still. It didn't take much effort in Sam's weakened condition and that almost hurt Dean more than anything at the moment. "Just listen to me, Sammy, let's just talk a minute." He reached up to brush back Sam's hair that was obscuring his face, but his brother flinched away from him and he gently placed his hand back on Sam's shoulder instead. His little brother was looking down at his lap where his own hands rested. There was gauze wrapped loosely around his wrists and Dean knew there were awful abrasions under the bandages from the restraints. The ones that had torn into Sam's wrists while he struggled; when he fought to get away from his own brother. Dean gently touched one with his broken hand and Sam whimpered slightly in the back of his throat.

"Dammit, Sammy," Dean whispered, his throat choked. "What can I do to fix this?"

Sam's head shot up now, a life in his eyes Dean had not seen for days. He was glad of that at least, even if it was manifested in anger.

"What can you do to fix this?" he repeated bitterly. "I don't know if you can do anything, Dean. You say you were under her spell, but I never heard her cast one, never saw her do it. I think she said something to you that made you…and you won't tell me what! So hell yeah, I'm angry at you, Dean, and I don't know if I'm ready to forgive yet. Not until you tell me what she did. I would rather have had her torture me than you. Don't you get that?"

"Sam, I don't know what to tell you," Dean sighed, his eyes closed in frustration he was trying his best not to show. "She shoved me into the corner, cut her hand and forced her blood into my mouth before I knew what was going on. Then she took my amulet and covered it in my own blood and whispered a spell into my ear. After that I wasn't in control of my body anymore, except for a few times when I was jarred out of it from pain. I dropped the knife, didn't I?"

"Why can't you just admit it?" Sam demanded. "I'd rather you admit it than be a coward about it!"

"You want me to phone Cassandra and ask her?" Dean shouted back, unable to contain his anger another minute. Greif at the fact his little brother didn't believe him making him lash out. "Sam, I know I did unforgivable things, hell, I don't expect you to ever forgive me. I just want you to be okay, man. Can you at least do that? For yourself."

"How do you expect me to be okay?" Sam cried, tears sliding down his cheeks. "I don't even know what that means anymore. I just don't understand, Dean. Why did you have to turn on me too? You're right. I did trust you with my life, but you let this happen, and I don't know how I can do that anymore. Maybe later, but not now, not with everything else that has happened. I just…I can't, Dean. I can't trust someone who turns on me and won't give me a reason. Not after dad ran off somewhere, not after Jess…I'm sorry, but I can't. Things just aren't like they used to be. I thought they could at least be between us, but…I don't know, Dean. Maybe not."

"Sammy, please," Dean whispered, grabbing his shuddering shoulder again. "Please don't do this now, it will only make it worse for everyone. I can't…I can't let you beat yourself up over this anymore. I can't watch you wither away."

"Then you should have thought of that before you took a knife to me!" Sam screamed, shoving him hard in the chest so that he fell backwards onto his butt, instinctively catching himself with his broken hand. Dean bit back a scream as he cradled his hand against his stomach, tears of pain making his eyes smart.

"Is it me?" Sam cried. "Is it my fault that everyone I care about dies or that I somehow manage to push them away?" he choked on a sob and buried his face in the pillow since he couldn't turn away from Dean.

The elder Winchester somehow managed to get to his feet and out the door. When he got downstairs, he finally allowed himself to vent and grabbed the first thing that came to hand, a heavy old book, and raised it with a shout to hurl across the room.

"Hey!" Bobby's hand caught his wrist to stop his progress. "That's a two-hundred-year-old book, ya idjit! Treat it with respect."

Dean allowed Bobby to take it from him, and slumped, so exhausted that he nearly hit the floor, and probably would have if Bobby hadn't foreseen where he was going and hooked an arm around his waist, guiding him over to the couch with a weary "Balls."

Dean slumped and Bobby pushed his flask into his hand. Dean drank without realizing he did so, the fiery liquor not really doing much to alleviate his troubles. His hand was still throbbing with pain, and Bobby noticed how he was cradling it.

"What did you do to your hand now?" he asked gruffly, pulling the limb closer for inspection before Dean could protest.

"Fell on it. Sam shoved me," he muttered, taking another swig from the flask. He winced as Bobby inspected his hand, and shook his head. "I don't know what to say to him, Bobby. He's determined not to believe me for some reason. I just don't understand why. I don't care if he forgives me, but I just need him…I need him to be okay."

Dean stopped before he started bawling like a girl and focused on breathing deeply to keep his emotions at bay.

"Well, he ain't gonna be okay, unless you two figure it out. I don't know either, Dean, but I do know that something's gonna hafta give eventually. This was a start. At least you got him to react, and that's something. I'm no psychology major, but I guess that's good. Maybe if you tell me more about what happened I could understand better."

"What is there to tell, Bobby?" Dean shouted, yanking his hand away and ignoring the pain that motion caused to shoot up his arm. He looked up to meet the older hunter's eyes, slapping his chest for emphasis. "I tortured my _brother_. You don't just get over that, not on either side! Do you even know what that's like? How he's screaming because of you, and worse, _pleading_ for you to stop?" A sob broke Dean's voice and he didn't even care anymore that Bobby saw him this weak. He brought up his other hand and produced the bite-mark for Bobby to see. "You know why Sam bit me? Because for one instant I was able to break Cassandra's hold on me, and you know what I did?" A tear ran down his face as he shook his head in disgust of himself. "I put my hand over his mouth just so I wouldn't have to listen to his screams while I went on torturing him." He trembled just at the memory, horrified at what he had done, feeling it even more now that he said it out loud, admitted it to someone. "How do you even expect anyone to forgive that, Bobby? Tell me, because, I don't have a damn clue."

"Dammit, Dean," Bobby breathed and gripped the back of Dean's neck, pulling him against his shoulder. Dean didn't want to accept the comfort; he didn't deserve it, but he couldn't help himself and closed his eyes, slumping against Bobby's solid presence.

"I swear you boys will be the death of me," Bobby muttered, rubbing a brisk hand through Dean's short hair. After another long moment he maneuvered Dean back against the pillows of the couch, ignoring the tears that he was obviously trying to scrub off of his freckled cheeks. Bobby almost smiled even as his heart broke at the sight. Dean looked so young, way too young to deal with this crap life, but he knew that inside, Dean was anything but young. Never had been. But Bobby would be there to offer his support, be the adult for a while until Dean recovered from the trauma he and Sam had gone through. He ran his hand thought the slightly spiked hair again before he stood up.

"Try and sleep, son," he said in an oddly gentle voice. "We'll try again later."

"Yeah," Dean mumbled, his eyes already closed. He curled up on his side, but wondered if things would ever be the same between him and Sam again.


	8. Chapter 8

**This is the chapter where things start to happen again. Hope you all enjoy! Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed and faved, and especially the guest reviewers since I can't reply to you :) I'm glad you've all enjoyed this so far!**

Chapter Eight

Cassandra gripped the wheel of her car tight as she drove along the highway. It hadn't taken her long to get the information she needed, and she felt pretty confident that she would find the boys exactly where she expected them to be. She knew they had their friends out on her trail, she had lost a couple of them about fifty miles back but didn't think those hunters would be a problem to her again. She had her own contacts, other witches that she knew, and some she didn't but who were quite willing to help her when she told them she was trying to get rid of two hunters.

One tipped her off to another hunter living in Sioux Falls, and that was where she was headed now. It was the closest place, and in the condition the boys were in, she figured that would be where they flew. She smiled as she thought of finishing her business with the Winchesters. They might have thought what she did before was bad, but it would be nothing compared to what she had planned for them now.

"No one plays the game of revenge better than a witch," she smiled as she picked up speed, thinking of the hard question: Who should be first, Sam or Dean?

* * *

><p><em>Several more days passed<em>; it had been a week now since they had gotten to Bobby's house. Sam was finally able to get up by himself, though he was still very stiff and in pain and he couldn't move very fast because of his broken ribs and all his wounds stitched together. Bobby firmly informed him as to what would happen if he had to reclose any of the wounds and Sam wisely took it to heart.

Dean woke one morning to Bobby's voice in the kitchen and he sat up stiffly on the couch and looked into the other room to see Sam actually sitting at the table, eating breakfast. He rubbed a hand over his face and got up, forcing a smile.

"Good to see you up and about," he said to his brother, sitting down at the table and grabbing the box of cereal and the carton of milk.

Sam chose to ignore him, continuing to eat. Fine, Dean could do that too. Bobby let out a sigh and eye roll that he didn't even try to conceal from the boys and finally turned to Dean.

"I was telling Sam that a couple of the hunters I told to keep a lookout for your witch saw her yesterday near the border," Bobby said.

Dean forgot Sam's issues for a moment and looked up with interest at what the older hunter was saying. "Yeah? Which way was she going? She couldn't possibly have been coming here, could she? How would she know?"

"I don't know, she could have done a locating spell or something, or maybe she just has contacts as well," Bobby shrugged, getting up to fill a cup of coffee for Dean. "We ain't the only ones who can find people. Either way, we'll keep on the look out. I'll call a couple friends in town and ask them to keep a sharp eye for anyone fitting Cassandra's description coming into the area." He looked Dean in the eye. "I'm not gonna let anything bad happen again, you understand?"

Dean nodded, but wasn't sure if Bobby could keep that promise. He thought he too could have kept that promise when it came to Sam, and that was obviously a lie. But he would be damned if he let Cassandra get the better of him a second time.

Sam obviously wasn't ready to believe him either, because he pushed back his half eaten bowl of mushy cereal and attempted to do the same with his chair but didn't have the strength yet. Dean had stood up to bring his bowl to the sink and grabbed the back of Sam's chair as he grunted, folding over his healing ribs.

"Here, I got it, buddy," he said gently, only to have Sam lash out at him and nearly tip himself out of the chair.

"Sam!" Bobby said loudly, grabbing his shoulder probably harder than he should have to steady him. "Your brother is just trying to help."

"He's helped me enough," Sam muttered as he pulled himself up with the help of the table's edge.

"Oh, I've had enough of this," Bobby growled, instantly causing both boys to turn to him. "You two either need to forgive or forget, or I'm this close to kicking your asses out of my house. I don't care how you do it, but I am done with your idiotic fights and your inability to talk to each other or figure out what the hell is wrong between you two! Now can you stop actin' like five-year-olds for two seconds?"

"Sorry Bobby," they mumbled together.

"Now listen," Bobby continued, motioning to Dean. "Sam, Dean carved you up, I know that, and yeah, I know this was traumatizing to you, but get over it! Cassandra had him under a spell, Sam, he didn't want to do that to you, what if it had been you? How would you feel if she had made you take a knife to Dean?" Sam hung his head, shaking, as Bobby turned his attention to Dean, glowering at him. "And you, you're the big brother as you so often love to say, so act the part! Grow a pair and actually spend some time _talking_ to your brother instead of moping around and waiting for something to happen! Nothin's gonna happen if either of you wait for the other to make a move, I'll be ancient in my grave by then! Hell, I thought your daddy was stubborn, but he's got nothin' on you two idjits! I can't _make_ you do anything, but I am _suggestin'_ that you try and make amends and stop being babies about it! Can you do that at least?"

They shuffled uncomfortably in front of him, looking at the floor.

"I can't hear you," Bobby added.

"Yes, sir," they replied, raising their heads as one.

Bobby would have smiled at that, if he hadn't been so angry. "Good. Now do what you want now, ignore each other, for all I care, but Sam, at least stop snapping every time Dean tries to help you."

Sam nodded and then he left to go back to his room. Bobby stopped Dean as he tried to slink back into the living room.

"And Dean, sleep in the damn bed tonight. I want my couch back!"

"Yes, sir," Dean said, not looking forward to it, but maybe it would help on the road to getting him and Sam back to normal.

* * *

><p><em>The entire day seemed to be spent<em> in Sam and Dean doing their best to avoid each other. Whether it was their stubbornness or something else, Dean wasn't even entirely sure, but all he knew was that nothing, not even Bobby was going to make them talk to each other before they were ready. It was the first step, but Dean was pretty certain that because Bobby had spoken up, that had just set Sam back several days. That kid could really lay on the sass when he wanted to, without even saying anything. One of the main reasons he and John had always butted heads.

But Dean was out of his mind with boredom, and as the afternoon waned, he finally turned the TV off that he had only been vaguely watching, and went to grab his jacket from the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

Bobby had gone out for supplies, but Dean left a short note for him before hollering up the stairs to Sam that he was going out. To which he got no reply. Big surprise. He wasn't really sure where he was going, but probably to the nearest bar, maybe he could find a nice girl to make him forget his problems, and if not, the drinks would do just as well.

It wasn't a smart idea, but he didn't care at the moment. He was just going insane with inactivity and most of his injuries were healing well enough to get around except his hand still in its brace. But hey, it would give a reason for the chicks to pity him, right?

He walked over to where he had left the Impala and gave a sigh of relief as he sunk into the driver's seat. Maybe some time to himself would help clear his head so that he could figure out how to approach the Sam issue. Maybe when they found Cassandra, he could force her to tell the truth about what really happened. But no, he knew it wouldn't work like that. This was between him and Sam now, and it was up to them to decide whether this would ever be resolved for the better.

As he drove out of the salvage yard, he failed to see the car parked further down the road, watching.

* * *

><p><em>Cassandra felt as if her plan was kismet<em>. There was Dean Winchester himself driving off alone in that clunky piece of junk he called a car. She could have easily stopped him, but she wasn't interested in him at the moment. He would come back, and when he did, there would be a surprise waiting for him.

The old hunter had already left a little earlier, so she knew that Sam Winchester was the only person currently in the house. She didn't know when the others would be back, so she decided now was the best time to make her move. She reached into the back of her car and grabbed a satchel, which she slung over her shoulder before getting out to walk to the ramshackle place that passed for a house, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to herself.

She looked in her bag to make sure she had everything and allowed herself a small smile. "Oh yes, Sam Winchester, we're going to have a lot of fun together."

* * *

><p><em>Sam heard Dean say he was leaving<em> but he didn't really care, did he? Part of him didn't want to be left alone, still gun-shy from the ordeal and barely able to defend himself, but he also felt a small breath of relief knowing Dean was leaving for a while. What was wrong with him? He knew in the back of his mind that Dean wouldn't willingly hurt him, and part of him still believed that, but he had been so messed up lately, what with everything that happened, and it had been two years since he had last seen Dean, so who knew what could have happened to him in that time? What kind of man he had become. Did he think Dean was capable of what he did? A year ago, he would have said no with a surety born of brotherly devotion, but now? Maybe he just had to face the facts and realize that Dean wasn't who he thought he was after all. After all the years of his care and devotion to his pain in the ass little brother. Sam almost smiled thinking that but his lips turned down again with a slight tremble. He was just sitting on the side of his bed, trying to make sense of everything but it wasn't working. He buried his face in his hands.

He wanted nothing more than to forgive Dean, believe what he said about the hex Cassandra had put on him, and why couldn't he? Was he so used to expecting the worst to happen, that he couldn't look past that to see the truth? It had seemed like him and Dean had just started to become brothers again, like they were before he had gone to Stanford, but now…

He gave a shuddering breath and angrily scrubbed the tears away that threatened to roll from his eyes. No. No more of that, he was such a damn mess these days, and he couldn't seem to stop sitting there crying like a girl.

_Lock it up, Samantha_, Dean said mockingly in his head.

"Jerk," Sam replied automatically out loud, but then felt even emptier when he wasn't greeted with the customary _bitch._

He lay down on the bed and curled his long legs up. These had seemed so much bigger when he was a kid. Bobby was right, he really needed to figure out a way to get through this, because he wouldn't allow himself to be burdened with these feelings anymore. He couldn't do that to himself, and he couldn't do that to Dean, no matter what he had done. Deep down, he could see Dean's anguish, and that kept a small flame of hope burning inside him that let him know that Dean was telling the truth.

But then every time he closed his eyes, he saw Dean sneering at him and carving him apart and worse, his fist smashing into his ribs. The physical beating had almost been worse. He shuddered again thinking of it now and clutched a pillow to his chest to keep the pain and sadness inside, when it felt like it would burst from his chest.

"I wish I could forgive you, Dean," he whispered. "But I think I maybe need some more time."

A noise downstairs came as an almost welcome distraction. Even if it was just Bobby coming back from the store, he thought he should check it out. Besides, he was tired of wallowing in his misery alone, and decided that the older hunter's presence would help his anxiety.

He opened the door to the room and started down the stairs. "Bobby? You there?" he called.

He got to the foot of the stairs, leaning against the wall a minute to catch his breath, his ribs hitching painfully, then set off to the kitchen where he heard another movement.

"Bobby?" Sam called again, frowning when he saw no one. Then more hesitantly, "Dean?"

"Hello, Sam."

He spun around to see Cassandra, but only just before she swung a pan at his head and he fell to the floor, everything going black.


	9. Chapter 9

**Here's the next chapter! Hope you all enjoy, and I was excited that I reached 50 comments on this story! It really means a lot that you guys take time to review, and thanks to everyone who has :)**

Chapter Nine

Dean sat at the bar as soon as he entered and ordered a whisky. He downed that and normally would have ordered another, but for some reason, he just didn't have the heart to do so. Even drinking had lost its appeal to him; it didn't do a thing. He sat there for a while, leaning against the bar and wondering what he was going to do.

"You look like you could use about three more of those," the bartender said sympathetically. It wasn't even a chick, just a guy a little older than Dean. Disappointing.

"Yeah, but it won't do any good," Dean muttered but didn't protest when his glass was refilled. The bartender gave him a look.

"You lose your girl or something?"

"My brother," Dean replied. "We're not on good terms right now."

"In my experience, family isn't much good for anything but trouble," the bartender said with a wry chuckle.

Anger instantly flared inside of Dean. "Family might be trouble, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't care. That you shouldn't try to fix it. In _my_ experience, it's better to have a busted family who gives you crap occasionally than to give up on them because of it."

The man actually took a step back. "Woah, sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

Dean downed his second glass and reached into his wallet. "Yeah, well I see you don't understand." He put the money on the bar, and walked out, not even looking twice at the blond woman he passed who gave him the once over. He didn't belong here right now. He belonged back at Bobby's with his brother. So what if Sam didn't want to talk to him? He would talk instead, and whether Sam listened or not, he didn't really care. He just wanted to get it out in the open, on the track to fixing the wrongs he had done whether by his will or not.

He drove back to the salvage yard and sat in the Impala for a minute after he cut the engine. Bobby wasn't back yet. That was good, he would have Sam all to himself. He didn't want Bobby there thinking he had to act as mediator.

He took a deep breath and shook his head. "It's not going to fix itself, Dean," he muttered as he opened the door and got out, heading to the house.

* * *

><p><em>Sam woke with a groan<em>, forcing his eyes open. He was lying on the floor, the hard wood pressed into his broken ribs. They throbbed badly and he hoped he hadn't re-damaged them by falling. But why…

"You awake, Sam?"

Oh, right. Cassandra had paid him a visit.

That woke Sam up right away. He struggled to sit up, but found his hands and ankles were bound and he only resulted in wriggling on the floor like a landed fish, hurting his ribs all the more. Cassandra stood over him and shoved him onto his back with her foot.

"You," he snarled, trying to keep himself from trembling in fear. "How did you find us?"

"I have my ways," she said with a cruel smile.

"Dean!" Sam cried out instinctively and Cassandra seemed amused by that.

"Oh, so have you repaired things with your big brother, Sammy? I thought you wouldn't want to have a thing to do with him anymore after what he did to you. But what, no matter if you torture or beat each other, you're still brothers? You've got a sick relationship, Sammy."

"Where is he? Where's Bobby?" Sam asked, trying to ignore the twist in his stomach at her words.

"Oh, they're not back yet. It's just you and me. And we're going to have a little fun before they return. Have a surprise ready for them." She crouched down beside Sam, her knife raised. Sam flinched and tried to scoot away, but without much result. Cassandra took the knife and sliced it across her own palm.

"Are you curious, Sam? About what happened to your brother back at my place? Why exactly he turned on you so suddenly?" she put her hand to her mouth and sucked up the blood. She smiled at Sam and leaned over, grabbing his face and forcing her lips against his. Sam struggled, disgusted as he tasted her blood on his tongue, but she pulled back and forced his mouth shut while she started to speak a spell.

Sam watched in horror as she took the watch from his arm and then cut him and rubbed the watch in it.

"There," she said. "Now let me untie you."

Sam rolled over with his back to her, but he hadn't even meant to. In fact, he couldn't move at all now, and it had nothing to do with the ropes. He tried to struggle as much as he could, but he didn't move an inch. It wasn't even like something was keeping him still, it was just that his body wouldn't obey what his mind told it. With sudden horror, he understood.

_Oh God, this is what she did to Dean. He was right. _Sam thought internally right before he berated himself for being such an idiot. _Of course he was right, why did you even think differently!_ He felt the ropes slacken and then fall off him. Cassandra pulled him up, and he made his way to his feet, not controlling himself at all. It was not a pleasant feeling.

He looked up at Cassandra and was pleased to see that at least his glare got across for she gave him a smug grin.

"Yes, Sammy, this is what I did to your brother. I thought it would be good fun to watch him torture you himself, and when he didn't have the guts to do it, I had to give him a little incentive. Poor Dean, it must have torn him up having to cut up his baby brother like that and then watch you be so cold to him, betrayed," she gave a shiver of mock pleasure. "Mm, I would have given anything to see that. You left too soon, so I had to find you again, of course. I wasn't nearly done with you two."

Sam felt horrible but also utterly relieved. Now he could fully forgive Dean, the suspicions he had been trying to tell himself, finally revealed as the truth. He didn't know why he couldn't believe it before; what a bastard he was being to his older brother when he was obviously suffering just as much as he was.

That is, if they survived long enough to make up.

"Now Sam, Dean will be back before long, I'm sure. What I want you to do is wait behind the door for him." She handed him a knife and his hand went out to take it, even though he was screaming at himself not to. He felt the hilt in his palm and held it in a firm grip. "And when he comes in, you are going to stab him."

_No!_ Sam cried silently, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was, "Yes, Cassandra."

She grinned. "Good. Now go. I'll be waiting right in the next room."

Sam went and stood behind the door, the light off in the room so that the darkening shadows concealed his figure. He felt like he should be trembling, but he couldn't even do that. He wasn't in control of any part of his body except his eyes.

The only thing he was certain of was that he was not going to kill his brother. He didn't care what he had to do, but he was not going to do that.

His stomach plummeted when he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine and the headlights flash into the salvage yard. He closed his eyes for a second and just tried to muster all his energy so that maybe he would be able to fight Cassandra.

_Please Dean, just run, just run away_, he pleaded silently, but he heard the car door, and in another few seconds Dean would be walking through that door and unsuspectingly into his knife.

* * *

><p><em>Dean stamped up the walk<em> hunched over as he climbed onto the porch. He hoped Sam wasn't asleep. It would stand to figure that the minute he was mentally ready to approach the subject with his brother that Sammy would decide to take a nap. He shook his head at the thought and opened the door.

It was his reflexes, sharpened from years of fighting, that saved him. A knife swung down out of the darkness, straight at him, but he ducked and grabbed the hand that wielded it, slamming the figure against the wall.

"Sammy!" he shouted, fear stabbing through him as he wondered how the intruder had gotten into the house and what he had done to his brother.

Then an elbow was jammed into his stomach and he was flung backwards into the table, hitting his injured shoulder as he fell and slumped to the ground.

He looked up, and was shocked to see Sam himself, standing over him with a knife.

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean cried, scrambling to his feet and ignoring the pain in his shoulder. "Don't do that! It's me!"

To his surprise, Sam just glared at him. "I know it's you, Dean. I was waiting for you."

Dean frowned, getting exasperated. "Dude, you don't wait for people with a knife in your hand unless you intend to kill them. Now put it down. I want to talk to you."

"I'm done talking, Dean," Sam said. "I'm going to carve you up like you did to me."

"Sammy?" Dean asked cautiously, stepping back as Sam advanced, holding his hands up in front of him. "Sammy, come on, you're sick, let me get you back into bed. Give me the knife."

Sam leapt forward, startling Dean and slashing with the blade, catching Dean across the upper arm. Dean grunted in surprise and tried to reach out to grab the knife from Sam's hand, but the younger Winchester lashed out again and cut Dean in the side. Dean folded over and Sam kicked him in the chest, sending him flying back into the table again with a crash.

Sam stepped forward and grabbed the front of his jacket, hauling him up and slamming him onto his back on the table, holding him down with a hand around his throat.

"S-Sam," Dean choked out, catching Sam's descending knife with his good hand and trying his best to get Sam's other hand away from his throat with his broken one. Sam only squeezed harder, and put all his weight onto Dean, trying to lower the knife into his chest.

"You tortured me! Your own brother!" Sam ground out as Dean choked, unable to say anything. "This is just justice. See how you like it."

Dean's eyes rolled up in his head, his vision going black, but out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw another figure standing in the shadows. He figured he was hallucinating, but then he looked again and he really did see someone there. Someone he didn't want to see again unless he was shooting to kill.

_Cassandra, you bitch,_ he growled silently. But now he thought he knew of a way to get Sam to keep from trying to kill him for a minute.

_Sorry, Sammy,_ he apologized silently. _But I know you're in there somewhere and whether you want to kill me or not, I'd rather deicide that while we're both un-hexed._ He felt himself going under, his arm weakening as he tried to keep Sam's knife away from him, feeling it almost digging into his chest. He let go of the hand Sam was strangling him with and swiftly punched Sam in his broken ribs.

A cry of pain and a look of shock flew across his face, and his grip on Dean loosened instantly as he staggered back, dropping the knife. Dean drug a huge lungful of air into his chest, hacking as he did so and slid to the ground, holding his throat and trying to concentrate on breathing.

"Dean…" Sam panted, holding his ribs and seeming to struggle with an unseen force. "Help…"

"It's okay, Sam, I've got her," Dean gasped out and hauled himself to his feet. "Get out here, Cassandra," he growled. He was reading for the pistol in the back of his jeans, thankful it was still there.

She stepped from the shadows and held up Sam's bloody watch, a slow smile on her lips. "Dean. Nice of you to drop by. I was telling Sam you left too soon last time for us to have any real fun. It's very rude to leave when the party is just getting started. So you'll have to get me up to date, Dean, did little Sammy not take too kindly to the way you treated him? I thought he might like a chance to get back at you."

"I'll kill you," Dean ground out, his voice hoarse from emotion and being nearly half-strangled. "You let him go, right now."

"Oh, I'm not going to do that, Dean," she said, clutching the watch tighter in her hand. "I'm going to play with you two a little longer, watch you forced to kill each other."

Dean readied to shoot at her but found himself crashing to the ground as Sam tackled him around his legs. He sprawled painfully, the gun skidding across the floor, and turned just in time to block a punch to his face from Sam.

"Don't you dare break your hand on me like I did," Dean warned him, shoving his brother off as gently as possible, hoping he hadn't done too much further damage to his ribs.

"Kill him," Cassandra hissed at Sam, kicking the knife to him.

Dean was on his feet again and he tried to make a dive for the knife, but he was only kicked onto his back again by Sam who snatched the weapon effortlessly. Dean scrambled into a corner, seeming to be too tired to get all the way back onto his feet and could only watch as Sam stood over him with the knife, Cassandra behind him watching the scene unfold with pleasure.

"And don't forget to take your time with it, Sam. Make sure it's nice and slow."

Sam looked down at Dean and gave him a smile that was anything but Sam. "Goodbye, Dean." And then he raised the knife and drove it toward his brother.

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah, sorry about the cliffie... I'm still working on the next chapter. BUT Season 10 starts this week, so being back from hiatus should keep everyone occupied :P<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry this chapter came later than usual, I was without internet for a couple days, but I hope you enjoy it now and I apologize for the wait :) This is the final chapter of the story, so let me know if you think it ended well or not! Thank you so much to everyone who has read, faved and reviewed this story. It always makes me very happy to read all your lovely reviews!**

Chapter Ten

As Sam stabbed him, Dean rose to his feet and advanced toward the knife instead of away from it. The blade sliced him across the ribs before it thudded into the wall behind him and then Dean had Sam in his arms, holding him as tight as he could, the arm Sam had used to stab him clamped tightly under his and Sam's head forced down against his shoulder like he had done when they were kids. He gripped the back of Sam's jacket tightly and fought for him, keeping him a prisoner from Cassandra's spell.

"It's okay, Sammy," he said. "Everything's gonna be all right now. I got you. I got you, Sammy."

"Kill him, Sam!" Cassandra screamed, starting forward toward the two brothers. "Do it now!"

Sam jerked in Dean's grasp, stiffening and trying to fight him off to get his knife out of the wall but Dean held firm.

"Get off of me!" Sam shouted. "I hate you!"

"Yeah right," Dean growled. "I know you're lying, Sammy. Just saying what she wants you to. Fight her, buddy, you can do it."

Cassandra growled and leapt forward to grab the back of Sam's jacket, making to pull him away from Dean.

"You will do what I tell you to!" she growled. "You killed my brother and I will make you do the same!"

Sam strained against Dean, but the older Winchester refused to let go, even when Sam tried to head-butt him. Dean kicked out at Cassandra and she fell back with a gasp, sprawling on the floor, and Dean squeezed Sam hard, putting pressure on his broken ribs to see if he could jar the spell again.

Sam stopped struggling for a second, gasping in pain, and Dean thought he had him, when Sam's hands came up and latched around Dean's throat, slamming his head back against the wall.

_Not again!_ Dean thought as he again fought to get Sam's hands from his throat, hearing Cassandra's pleased laughter from behind his brother. _Do not make me kick you in the balls, Sam, because I will!_ Dean warned silently. Then felt Sam's grip slacken and go for the knife still stuck in the wall. He grabbed it and yanked it free, finally letting go of Dean's throat, throwing him to the floor where Dean landed with a gasping heave of breath, his head smacking against the ground.

"Do it now, Sam, make him feel what he did to you. I know you want that," Cassandra coaxed glibly, putting her hand over Sam's that held the knife and reaching up to stroke the hair from his face.

"Get off 'im," Dean gasped out, struggling to get to his feet again. "It's okay, Sammy, nothing's gonna happen. I won't let it."

Cassandra laughed mockingly. "The only way you can stop this, Dean, is to kill me, or kill your precious little Sammy. And I don't think you're capable of either right now." She stroked Sam's cheek one more time. "Go get him, handsome."

Sam stepped toward Dean and grabbed the front of his jacket, hauling him to his feet and slamming him against the wall again. Dean grunted as his head once again connected. "Dude, you've already given me a concussion."

Sam smiled, a smile that chilled Dean to the bone, even though he knew there was nothing in it that was his little brother. The knife gleamed dully in the dark kitchen and Sam pressed it against Dean's cheek, pushing until blood seeped down his chin. Dean cringed but didn't say anything. He just kept his eyes on his little brother. He wouldn't let this happen. He couldn't do that to Sammy.

Sam took the knife away and rested it on Dean's collarbone before slicing viciously over his chest. Dean couldn't help the startled yelp he let out, even though he had vowed not to make a sound. It had surprised him.

"It's okay, Sammy, just look at me. We'll get through this," he said when he got his breath back then found Sam's hand smothering his mouth. Revulsion and guilt washed through Dean. This is what he had done to Sam. How could he have been so cruel to his little brother?

"Shh," Sam hissed at him. "Take your punishment like a man."

The knife went lower, the tip pressing against Dean's stomach now. He could feel blood welling from the pressure, soaking into his shirt.

"Make him hurt, Sam," Cassandra hissed.

Nothing happened. Dean suddenly reached out and grabbed Sam's wrist, pulling the knife away from him. Sam fought, going to punch Dean with his other hand, but Dean caught that as well and held onto Sam's forearms with all the strength he had left while Cassandra fought him and he fought for Sam who couldn't do it for himself.

"Sammy, don't let her take you. You've got to fight it."

He could see the fight going on behind Sam's eyes, his face twisted in the physical effort, but his eyes twisted emotionally.

"Stop!" Cassandra said, suddenly lunging for the gun Dean had dropped previously. "I'll kill you both and be done with it!" She cocked it and aimed.

"No!" Dean ground out, seeing that Sam was right in her line of fire and he would be damned if he was going to watch his little brother be shot before him. He mustered up the strength to throw Sam as far away from him as possible and hope for the best.

But just then the door crashed open and Bobby came in with a shotgun. Without a second's hesitation, he shot Cassandra in the chest and she fell with a gasp onto the floor, bleeding out, the pistol clattering to the floor.

Sam was instantly released from the spell and he gasped and sagged into Dean's arms, dropping the knife. The instant dead weight forced Dean to sink to the ground, but he didn't let Sam go.

Sam didn't seem to mind, for he reached up and gripped Dean's coat, forcing his head up under Dean's chin and taking several shuddering breaths to regain control of himself. Dean didn't comment on the chick flick moment that was ensuing, he just rested his chin on top of his little brother's head and put a hand firmly on the back of his neck.

"See, what did I tell ya? It's all over now, Sammy, everything's fine."

"Dean," Sam said in a choked voice. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, Sam," Dean told him with a humorless chuckle. "I think we're even now, don't you?"

Sam gave a wet laugh and reached up to scrub some tears off his cheeks. Dean pulled him closer, but he groaned.

"Dude, my ribs," he wheezed.

"Oh, right," Dean loosened his grip a bit, but not all the way. Not until Sam stopped shuddering and the younger Winchester was just going to have to deal with that.

Bobby stood from where he had been crouching next to Cassandra's body, checking for a nonexistent pulse, and went over to the boys, putting a hand on each of their shoulders.

"You boys both all right?" he asked, a worried tone in his voice that he was trying to hide.

"A few more bruises and scrapes, but I think we'll be fine," Dean said sincerely, though knew there was more than bruises on his part. Some of his new cuts were going to need stitching, he figured. But he would worry about that later. He ran a hand through Sam's hair and patted his back gently.

"You ready to get up, sasquatch?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sam said and Bobby helped him to his feet, then offered Dean a hand as well. Dean pulled himself upright and had to lean against Bobby for a minute before he could stand on his own.

"You two go sit down for a minute while I take care of this," Bobby said, motioning to Cassandra. "Then we'll have something to eat after I get you patched up again, and after that I'm sending you off to bed—no arguments either! You two look like you got beat six ways to Sunday."

Dean refrained from smiling and instead, took Sam's arm and drew him toward the couch where they sat to wait for Bobby. They still didn't speak, but now wasn't the time. Dean knew that there would still be a little working out to do, but for the most part, they had at least forgiven the sins of the other.

Once Bobby had gotten rid of the body—and Dean didn't ask how he had accomplished that—he came back and helped clean up the boys' new injuries with a longsuffering sigh before they ate dinner, and by then Dean was actually exhausted and wasn't angry at all about Bobby sending them to bed like they were three.

He was halfway up the stairs behind Sam, both of them moving slower than 70-year-olds, when a thought struck him and he hesitated before going into the room. "Hey, you okay with me sleeping in here?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Sam said, then a second later gave a decisive nod as if confirming his answer. "I am."

Dean smiled and sat down on the second bed. "Good, because Bobby's couch sucks. It's gonna take weeks to work it out of my back." He sat down and pulled off his boots then stripped to his boxers and t-shirt to sleep in. He climbed into the small bed and pulled the long familiar quilt over top of himself, watching as Sam crawled into his own bed.

"Hit the light?" Sam asked.

Dean reached over and turned off the lamp, and then smiled as he watched Sam curl up on the bed facing him.

It was a start.

* * *

><p><em>Dean hated the healing process<em>. He got so tired of being laid up. Most of the time, he would work through it, but with his hand still splinted it proved difficult to do much of anything, and Sam too was still recovering, and still a bit gun shy as well so Dean decided it would be best if they stayed at Bobby's for a little while longer. Get some actual rest, and feed Sam up a bit before they started looking for their dad again.

He was out one afternoon tinkering one-handed on the Impala, letting his mind go blank for a little while. He and Sam both still had their own nightmares, and he didn't think that would change for a while yet, but at least during their waking hours, they saw what was real and what wasn't and were able to get through the day. But Dean still found himself running his fingers over the bite mark on his hand before he would have to stop himself, as he brought back memories of holding the knife and torturing Sam.

He was bent under the hood, trying to tighten a bolt with his left hand and making a clumsy attempt of it, when he heard a footstep behind him.

"Hey." He turned around to see Sam standing behind him with a small smile, holding two beers. "Thought you might like a drink?"

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean straightened up and turned around to sit on the front of the car, taking the proffered bottle from Sam. A few seconds later, his brother sat next to him. They drank in silence, but Dean felt something going unsaid.

Finally, Sam turned to him and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You know, Dean, I'm feeling pretty good. I think I'm about ready to go look for Dad again."

"You sure?" Dean asked, casting a sideways glance at his brother, trying to judge his mood. He fidgeted a bit, not quite looking at Dean, but he nodded.

"Yeah. I think…" he took a deep breath and turned to face Dean fully. "Look, Dean. What happened—I think it's going to take us both a while to really get over it, but I also think that it's not going to help sitting around and waiting for it to go away and for the nightmares to leave us alone." Dean saw a quick, haunted look pass over Sam's features as he even mentioned it, but he shook himself instantly. "I mean, this life, we're just going to have to get used to stuff like this happening, because I doubt it's the first time something like this will be thrown at us."

Dean nodded and took another drink before he nudged Sam's knee with his own. "You okay, little brother?" he asked. "Like, I mean, with everything. Are you all right?"

Sam didn't say anything for a long moment, just staring down at his feet and then finally turned to Dean with a small smile and a nod. "Yeah. Yeah, Dean, I think I really am okay." He then thought a minute before he added, "Are you?"

Dean shrugged and drank the rest of his beer. "Aw, ya know, Sam. Just another day at the office." He winked and Sam chuckled, shaking his head.

"Yeah, we're really messed up, aren't we?"

"What's the attraction of being normal? You know chicks dig the mysterious ones," Dean returned and stood up, reaching down to help Sam up as well. He slung an arm around his shoulders and drew him toward the house.

"Let's tell Bobby the good news, that we'll be giving him his house back," Dean said, slapping Sam on the back. "Race you!"

"Dammit, Dean!" Sam shouted, growling as his still-healing ribs ached from running. He bent over when they got to the porch, and tried to get his breath back. He swiped a hand at Dean as he laughed at him. "You're such a jerk!"

"And you're a whiny bitch so it makes us even," Dean retorted, ruffling Sam's hair fondly.

"Would you two idjits get in here already?" Bobby called through the door. "I think I got a case for you if you want to take it."

Dean looked over at Sam questioningly. "Well? What do you say?"  
>Sam shrugged, giving him a smirk. "Just another day at the office?"<p>

Dean grinned and they finally joined Bobby inside, more than ready to get back on the road.

The End

* * *

><p><strong>Next weekend, I'm hoping to start posting my new one shot series about Cas figuring out or dealing with human things with the boys' help. If you have any suggestions or ideas for that, let me know! I've got a few ideas, but I thought it would be fun to see what everyone else wanted to hear about, so I should have that started next friday or saturday. Thanks again for reading! I hope the rest of your weekend is nice!<strong>


End file.
